Sell the Life of the World
by LJL
Summary: Re-imagines the end of 1x12 "Code Breaker" and explores a very different aftermath of the fight with Peter Hale, in which the survivors are left heavily traumatized, attempting to learn how to live and coexist in a world where the concepts of love, survival, and family are becoming increasingly complex. Rated "M" for violence and eventual (really) strong sexuality.
1. Rewriting Code

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story starts with an alternate ending to the season one finale, "Code Breaker," picking up from just after Chris Argent has interrupted Kate about to kill Scott. First, this story was originally planned to be just this chapter, but it's since been expanded to be a little longer (how much longer only time will tell). Second, this story does _not_ tie in with "Cold Skies," the crossover fic I'm writing that ties Teen Wolf in with Buffy, Angel, Supernatural, The Secret Circle, and Harry Potter (that fic uses the actual end of "Code Breaker" as a jumping off point).

And may the fun begin!

REWRITING CODE

"The Alpha," Scott said, his eyes glowing yellow and his claws extending. Chris, Kate and Allison Argent all drew in closer to his sides. _My savior, my executioner, and my...what does she qualify as now? _Scott wondered. Chris and Kate both checked their weapons and Allison drew an arrow to her bow.

"I'd suggest you get out of here," Scott said, his voice distorted from the change. He caught a look of slight shock at the difference in his voice from Allison – _the reality of the thing's got lots of levels, more than she thought,_ Scott thought.

"Four against one is better than one against one," Chris Argent replied, his voice still relatively cool, but Scott could detect a note of nervousness there now as well. _He's probably fought Alphas before_.

"Two pop guns and a bow and arrow isn't going to enough damage to stop him," Scott muttered. A whooshing sound told him that Alpha was moving through the trees, although he couldn't pin down where. Scott caught Chris Argent's eye and nodded in a very specific direction. "Take Kate and Allison and get out of here. I can hold him off while you go."

A moment of unspoken communication passed between Scott and Chris. _Please, let him understand_, Scott begged silently. After only a slight hesitation, Chris nodded. "Okay," he said. "We'll go."

***/\***

"What?" Allison asked. _He's not serious._ "We're running?"

"No way am I running from a fight, Chris," Kate said. Her grip tightened on her pistol. "You know me."

Another whooshing sound, this time accompanied by a distinct howl. Unlike the howls she'd heard from Scott and Derek, this one was deep, almost like a roar. Allison had never heard something so unspeakably inhuman in her life.

"Scott is right, we don't have the kind of firepower necessary to fight this fight," Chris said, lowering his pistol and taking Kate by the arm. "And anyway, we both know he's after you. We should get out of here."

Allison threw a questioning glance at her aunt – _why would he be after you specifically?_ She wanted to ask – but Kate's facial expression didn't change in the slightest. She did, however, allow Chris to begin leading her away from the ruined Hale house. Allison turned to look at Scott. "We shouldn't leave you."

"It's okay," he said. "I can help you get away." His eyes were golden, but she could see all manner of pain and anguish behind them. Behind them, he was still Scott. And he was giving up his life for hers. _Oh...shit. What did I do?_ Before she could say anything else, she felt her father's hand grip her arm and start dragging her away from the Hale house. Her mind was so distracted that the only thing she could think was, t_his isn't the way to the cars. They're in the opposite direction._

At that exact second she heard another roar – this one right in front of her. The Alpha sprung out of the shadows of the trees, lunging toward her – she was closest – and she knew that she wouldn't get her bow up quickly enough. Likewise she knew that neither her father nor her aunt would be able to raise their guns quickly enough.

Only Scott, who'd planned the whole thing out, was quick enough, intercepting the Alpha in mid-air, now fully shifted into his own Beta wolf form. _That was the nod,_ Allison thought. _Telling Dad to go this way to the Alpha at our front, so we can run back the other way to the cars._ A second later her father confirmed it by grabbing her by the arm as well and hissing, "Run!"

Her feet weren't working correctly, watching as the Alpha took a swipe at Scott, who dodged under it, the claws grazing the fabric of his dirty white dress shirt. Scott punched upward but the Alpha managed to twist out of the way and backhand Scott across the face, not cutting the skin but sending the young Beta wheeling backward. A second later her feet began working and she was following her father back towards the cars.

Once they were just out of sight – but not out of sound distance, Allison could hear as the fight continued, a giant crack as a tree trunk splintered from having one of the combatants thrown against it – Kate dug her heels in, causing Allison to stumble. "Wait," she said.

"Maybe there's some part of, 'run while I hold him off' you didn't understand," Chris began, bristling.

"I said, wait," Kate said, matching his tone. "We should wait here. Circle around, let them fight, then finish off whichever one wins. They'll never be weaker. We can put this town behind us again."

Allison's eyes widened as her Aunt Kate, the woman who'd babysat her when she'd still thought it was cool to have a babysitter, who'd sat and talked with her for three hours about the first boy she'd kissed, talked about either waiting for her boyfriend to die or waiting until he was too exhausted to fight them off, with the same expression she might use when talking about grocery shopping. She looked to her father and felt a little bit more of her world plummet out from underneath her; he was clearly considering it.

"No," Chris Argent replied, after a moment of consideration that, to Allison, felt like an entire lifetime. "I'm sticking by what I said earlier. The code still applies. There's no proof that he's taken human life."

"What if he kills the Alpha?" Allison asked, completely dazed.

"Doesn't make a difference," Kate said.

"Not so far as the code is concerned," Chris confirmed. "The point is that he has not taken _human_ life. That won't change if he kills the Alpha."

"Doing our job for us," Kate said, with a smile that Chris frowned at. _I'm in a complete nightmare,_ Allison thought. _Again. How many times can that happen in one night?_ Kate's smile slipped. "Can't say I like this running thing. I still think we should pick off whichever one pulls through the fight. From the sound of it there isn't going to be much left of whichever one makes it. We won't get a better opportunity than this."

Chris shook his head and Kate shrugged, clearly disappointed but still acquiesing. The two older Argents turned to resume their trek back to the cars. After a couple of steps, Chris realized that Allison wasn't walking with them. He turned to see that his daughter's eyes were round as dinner plates. "Allison?" he asked, the cool tone he'd been using with Kate slipping back into the voice she more normally associated with her father – _daddy,_ a part of her mind felt like sobbing and laughing hysterically at the same time.

Another huge crack, this time accompanied by a pained howl, not low enough in pitch to be coming from the Alpha. Allison's face twisted. "I can't leave him," she said, and turned and bolted back toward the fight.

"Damn it! Allison!" Chris hastened to catch up, but he'd raised an athletic daughter, and she had a head start on him.

As she ran, Allison drew another arrow from her quiver – _silver shaft_ – and began to fit it to the compound bow's firing notch. By the time she'd gotten back to where Scott and the Alpha were dueling, the fight had moved to the clearing in front of the Hale house again. Scott had just been thrown off balance by another backhand from the Alpha, which left him stumbling down onto the ground scattering the leaves and dirt as he landed. His clothes were even more torn than they had been and he was bleeding from several cuts, notably a large gash over his right eye.

When he caught sight of Allison, Scott's golden eyes flared with pain and desperate fear. "Get out of here!" he yelled. "He'll kill you!"

***/\***

When Scott saw that Allison had come back for him his first thought, admittedly, was, _she is so stupid_. Even given everything it wasn't a thought he'd ever thought he'd associate with Allison, but it was there nonetheless. He'd yelled at her even as he saw her let fly her first arrow at Peter Hale, the Alpha who'd been more or less making him over into raw meat up until then.

The arrow struck Peter in the left shoulder, burying itself there. Peter howled, a lower, more guttural sound than Scott, or even Derek, had been able to make. In his full Alpha form, Peter wasn't capable of human speech at all, but he seemed to still have the capacity for human expression, because Scott could have sworn that he smiled as he pulled the arrow from his shoulder. He snapped the arrow in two, letting the two halves fall to the forest floor.

Allison drew another arrow, but by the time she tried to sight her target Peter wasn't there anymore. Desperate, Scott tried to launch himself at Allison, to push her out of the way, but Peter was there first, batting the bow violently out of Allison's hands and, in one perfect, fluid motion, turning to drive an uppercut into the lunging Scott, sending him flying into the Hale house's front wall. Scott tasted his own blood and actually heard a ringing noise in the back of his head as he settled back to the ground, shifting back to his normal form.

Scott's eyes, both ringed with bruises now, opened, to see Peter standing over Allison, who'd fallen to the ground and was looking up at him, a terrified look on her face. He tried to move – his body was beginning to heal, but the blow had shattered several bones and done other damage that Scott couldn't even consciously take stock of; he suspected that someone without a werewolf's durability and healing ability, not to mention constitution for pain, would have died of shock in his condition. Instead of springing to his feet to charge back into the fight, Scott's entire body twitched and he coughed up a not-small amount of his own blood.

Through his slightly cloudy vision, Scott saw as the Alpha reared to strike at Allison. His motion was interrupted by twin pops – _gunshots, _Scott realized – which blew him backward. Peter snarled at the interruption and pain and once more whooshed his way into the trees and out of sight. Chris and Kate argent approached from the positions they'd taken on either side of Allison, both bending down to check on her.

"Scott! He's hurt!" she said, pointing to where Scott lay with his back against the wall of the Hale house.

"Healing," Scott managed to grunt, although it made another large amount of blood spill out of his mouth. "Focus. Trees."

It wasn't any use. Peter had managed to regroup and, quicker than Kate or Chris could process Scott's words, he's managed to refocus himself on the new threat. Scott could tell that both of the older Argents had fought – _hunted,_ he thought – werewolves in the past, clearly with success or else they'd both have been dead. Still, they were at an extreme disadvantage – at night, Peter's senses were far superior to theirs, they lacked any sort of backup and were carrying minimal firepower, and Peter knew the area far better than they did. And Peter was driven.

Peter managed to drop down right between the two older Argents. "Behind you!" Scott managed to yell. He tried to stand again and found that he could push himself up to at least a kneeling position. _Progress_.

Chris and Kate Argent both whirled, but neither was nearly fast enough; Peter could watch their movements and plan his own counterattack so that when he launched it, it flowed fluidly. Both Argents were trying to bring their guns to bear on Peter, but in a single motion he flung both arms outward sideways, his clawed fists connecting with the Argents' guns, sending the pistols flying into the foliage. Both Chris and Kate stumbled backward at the force of the punches, falling to the ground. Scott finally managed to push himself to his feet, feeling the last of the broken bones settling into place.

Peter, meanwhile, had shifted from the full Alpha form to one more befitting a Beta; his sideburns remained long and fur-like, his ears pointed, and his claws and fangs were still extended. This time he definitely smiled at Scott, who was making his way over to where Peter stood over the fallen Argents. "Scott!" he said. "You put up a marvelous fight. I'm quite proud of how long you managed to hold out against me; I wouldn't have expected you to last half the time. We'll make a strong fighter of you yet. Maybe the strongest."

"Let them go," Scott said, a slight wheeze still in his voice. He drew level with and about fifteen feet from Peter, who stood over Chris Argent, who was looking up at him with a look of disgust and anger. Neither Kate nor Allison moved. Both were within easy striking distance of Peter and neither had a weapon they could see or get close to.

"You know I'm not going to do that," Peter said. "This is why I'm here. This is what I've been building toward for the past few months. I'm not going to give it up now. But I will do you a favor, Scott. I'll tell you that if you leave right now, you might still be able to save your mother's life."

Allison, who had been watching Scott, snapped her head around to stare at Peter. Even Kate looked surprised. It took a second for Scott to process the words. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"I've had a busy night," Peter said. "I knew I'd probably need some insurance on you before setting all this in motion, so I swung by your house after you left for the big dance. Your mother was so happy to see me – I think she's been very lonely for quite some time, Scott, a feeling with which I can empathize. She invited me in for coffee. I cut her in a dozen places before she hit the floor. None of them were arteries, and I didn't bite her, so she won't turn, but eventually she'll bleed out. Maybe if you go right now you can still save her."

Scott gritted his teeth. "I thought you were the good guy," he said.

Peter gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "I think we can leave all the pleasantries behind now, can't we?" he asked. "We are simply who we are – who we are made to be – and it requires no further discussion about 'good' versus 'bad.'"

Scott shook his head. "I still don't believe you," he said.

Peter cocked his head at Scott. "Smell me," he said. "Use those marvelous senses I gifted you with. They'll tell you everything you need to know." He stood and waited.

Hesitantly, Scott sniffed at the breeze. Even unshifted he could smell eight million things at once. He worked to isolate Peter, and then worked harder to isolate the numerous smells coming from the Alpha. He could smell minimal contact with Stiles, a few small amounts of Lydia's blood – _What?_ - and then he could smell the scent he knew to be his mother's – and he could smell her blood. A lot of it. Scott howled, shifting back to his werewolf form instantly.

Peter remained half-shifted and held up a single clawed, slightly furry hand. "Wait," he said. "I now you're angry. But remember, if you go now you might still be able to help her. Leave these three to me."

Scott stood his ground, torn. His eyes scanned Chris and Kate Argent, both wearing similar looks of disgust and anger, mostly directed toward Peter, although he got the impression that those expressions would probably have turned on him in Peter's absence. Allison was watching him, curiously, looking terrified out of her wits.

After a moment Peter began to lose his patience. "Make your decision however you will," he said, turning sideways to look down at Chris Argent. "I'm going to kill this one while you make up your mind."

Neither Kate nor Allison could react as Peter raised a clawed hand and began a deadly swipe at Chris' neck. Again, it was only Scott who was fast enough. Realizing that Peter would be ready to parry another thrust directly at him (and not particularly wanting to wind up broken against the side of the house again), Scott instead did the next best thing – he dove into the path of Peter's strike, taking the full force of the hit as four searing, red-hot lines an inch and a half deep across the entire length of his back, the first serious cuts Peter had managed to inflict on Scott.

Scott's vision swam red. But he stayed conscious, pushing Chris Argent out of Peter's reach and turning to face the enraged Alpha.

***/\***

Allison saw every detail of the cuts on Scott's back as Peter tore his skin to shreds. She'd seen her share of injuries over the years, but never anything quite like this; between the adrenaline and the horror of the situation she felt hyper-focused and, despite the Alpha's speed, it was almost like she was seeing the cuts perforating Scott's back in slow motion. The claws actually dug in; instead of just red lines, Scott's skin seemed to flap as the claws tore deep, and Allison had the distinct impression that she could see _into_ his back along the four gashes.

Scott howled and stumbled under the force of the blow which, Allison realized, probably would have completely severed her father's neck. Scott pushed her father out of Peter's reach and, somehow still standing, turned and swiped his own claws at the Alpha.

_He's moving slower_, Allison thought as Scott and and the Alpha resumed their fight. She looked wildly around, but there was no sign of her bow; when Peter had batted it out of her hands it had landed somewhere beyond the tree line, and there was no way she would find it in the dark. Similarly, Kate's gun seemed to have landed somewhere undetectable. Her father's gun, though...

A slight glitter on the ground about thirty feet away caught Allison's eye. She glanced at Scott and Peter – they were too busy with their new fight to be paying attention to her. Similarly, both Kate and Chris, still on the ground, seemed transfixed by the deadly dance Scott had undertaken with Peter. Taking a short, deep breath, Allison pushed herself to her feet and sprinted for the pistol. Her father started at her movement but seemed to think better of calling her name.

Allison slid to a stop next to the glittering object, which turned out, just as she'd quickly prayed, to be her father's sidearm. She picked it up, checked to make sure that the hammer was still cocked, and turned back to Scott and Peter.

Just in time to see Peter grab a dazed Scott with both hands at Scott's collarbone and tear downward, all eight of his primary finger claws drawing enormous gashes down Scott's chest, all the way to his waist, similar to the cuts Peter had inflicted on Scott's back but even deeper, leaving Scott's shirt and flesh in tatters. Scott's eyes actually rolled backward from the pain and he slumped back, his neck exposed. Peter bared his teeth.

"No!" Allison yelled, and as Peter's head twitched at the interruption, she began firing. Handily, Chris Argent had always been of the opinion that giving his daughter the knowledge to safely handle a gun was preferable to simply forbidding her to use them. While arrows had always been her forte, she was a decent shot with a handgun too. She squeezed the trigger six times in rapid succession, each of the bullets hitting Peter squarely in the head. On the third shot he dropped Scott to the ground. Allison began advancing on Peter, who stumbled back onto one knee under the barrage of bullets. After the sixth shot, the pistol clicked. Allison looked at it to see the slide drawn back, indicating that the gun was empty. She looked up in time to see Peter swiping the gun out of her hands before it was once again lost to the woods.

It was Allison's turn to stumble back, landing painfully on a rock. She wasn't carrying anything else with which she could defend herself, and Peter was looming over her, clearly completely given over to his rage and blood lust. Peter howled.

Which was nothing compared to the blood-curdling roar that Scott let loose from the ground behind them. Peter turned to look at the young Beta, but Scott moved too fast for him to counter. Scott drove the claws of his right hand straight up into Peter's throat, sinking them in so far that all four of the fingers on his hand disappeared into Peter's furry neck. Peter's wolf eyes went wide and he tried to shake Scott loose, raking his claws again and and again over Scott's outstretched arm, but Scott held on, rage of his own making his golden eyes shine especially strong, and he twisted, curling his fingers to tear at the inside of Peter's neck. Peter's body began shuddering violently. Slowly, still trying to bat at Scott's arm with decreasing strength, Peter began to shift back to his human form, until finally the only thing left to distinguish him as a werewolf were his glowing red eyes. He was choking on his own blood, trying to say something, but no words were coming out. Scott looked deep into Peter's red eyes, saw fear, and finished clenching his right fist, tearing Peter's throat – and half of his neck – completely clear of his body. Peter's body fell to the ground, the red glow dimming to nothing before it'd even fully collapsed.

For a second, Allison watched as Scott himself stood, panting, holding the torn remnants of Peter's throat. His breathing increased in rapidity and, suddenly, he pitched over, shifting back to human. Looking him over, Allison realized that the cuts Peter had inflicted hadn't healed fully yet and Scott had lost a lot of blood. Allison's eyes were wide and staring, still trying to process the sight of Scott physically ripping apart a man's throat. For all she'd seen that night she was starting to thinks she'd used up her ability to process information.

Which is probably why she couldn't figure out how to react when she saw Kate advancing on them, having somehow retrieved her own gun from the woods. "Perfect," Kate muttered. "Alpha dead, and you're not in any shape to put up a fight, are you, brown-eyes? We can wrap this up nicely."

She pointed the gun at Scott, who looked up at Kate with eyes that again glowed gold, and Allison, in her state of shock, could only think, _Why is she pointing a gun at Scott? He just saved our lives._

Luckily, Chris head kept more of his head about him. He charged his sister from behind and hit her bodily with his shoulder, the gunshot went wide of hitting Scott. Scott hissed at the two older Argents and, recognizing danger, Allison wondered suddenly if Scott was going to attack her father and aunt. Scott himself seemed to be considering just that, but he raised his head, sniffing at the wind, then let loose another howl at the moon, full of pain and anger and everything completely animal and human at the same time, and then pulled himself up and began to lope, running with his legs and arms, away. He was out of sight before Allison could say anything else.

***/\***

_She's not dead_, Scott was thinking, running flat out through the trees so fast that low-lying branches were cutting his face. _She's not dead. He was just saying that to goad me. She probably just cut herself on a knife and he took advantage to get her blood scent on him. He wouldn't hurt her. He wouldn't do that._

A part of Scott later would recognize that everything he'd been saying to himself at that point was completely foolish. Of course Peter would hurt his mother; hurting people is what Peter did, especially if it furthered his goals. And Peter wanted Scott as part of his pack, for Scott to break ties with the human world, and one of the biggest ties would, of course, be Scott's human mother.

That would come later.

That night, Scott was still justifying and scrambling for other ways to explain away what he was about to find as he approached his house, the house he'd grown up in, had his mother put bandaids on when he'd gotten cuts as a little boy, where he'd snuck out of bed at night for cookies, where he'd come running when a bully had pushed him into a puddle on the first day of kindergarten and where his mother had greeted him at the door and wrapped him in a giant hug that had seemed to last for hours and make it all go away.

She greeted him at the door again this night, although in a slightly different fashion. Scott was dimly aware of the EMS truck and flashing lights around the house. Dimly as well, on seeing them Scott realized he'd shifted back to human. He sprinted for the front door, ignoring a shout from Stiles' father, just in time to see two EMS technicians carrying a stretcher with a body covered in a sheet through the front door.

Still not fully believing, Scott grabbed the sheet and threw it and yes, it was his mother laying there, and he struggled to find any sign of life from her but she wasn't breathing because he couldn't feel the slight change in air that came with breathing from her and her heart wasn't beating because the only sound he could detect from stretcher she was on was a slight clicking noise that one of the metal pieces on the underside made and he could smell all the cuts and all the blood that she'd lost and it made sense to the wolf in him that she was dead but it didn't make sense to him and it couldn't actually be, could it?

Finally realizing that it really was the truth, Scott collapsed to his knees, tears beginning to flow. Sheriff Stilinski, who'd been standing talking with one of the EMS techs by their ambulance, managed to catch up to Scott, wrapping a hug around Scott's shoulders and holding him as his entire body shuddered with the force of his increasing, out of control sobbing. The sheriff continued to hold the sobbing teenager as EMS took his dead mother away.

* * *

Allison hadn't seen Scott in three days. After they'd gotten home after Scott had killed Peter and they managed to sort through everything that had happened (Chris promising to be angry at both Kate and Allison once the shock had worn off), they'd pieced together everything Peter had said and realized where Scott must have gone. They'd made a few calls and found, to Allison's complete horror and Kate's near-complete indifference, that Scott's mother had indeed been killed. When, after this, Kate had muttered that Chris should have let her put Scott down too, the conversation – which had lacked tension up until that point, mostly due to their mutual exhaustion – had exploded, Allison screaming her head off at her aunt, calling her a sociopath and murderer, Kate calmly responding that Allison was more a child than she'd thought and really wasn't ready for all of this, Chris silently agreeing, at least with the last part. Allison had tried to get Scott every way she knew how – his cell phone, the house phone, even Stiles' cell, but no one had answered that night, and Chris had forbidden her from leaving, going so far as to barricade her door. She'd spent the next day trying to find him, but he wasn't at the Stilinskis and his own home was cordoned off with yellow police tape. Finally, after texting Stiles for the eighth time that day, she'd gotten a response: _Scott is safe. He doesn't want to talk to you. Stop calling._

She'd felt a lump in her throat then, but pushed it down and reasoned that it made sense, that he was going through a lot and wasn't sure where they stood and didn't want to have to try and work through that as well right now. She wanted to see him so badly it ached – worse than the bumps and bruises and cuts she'd gotten from the fight with Peter – but she was willing to wait. She knew where she'd see him; where he'd have to be.

His mother's funeral.

Both Chris and Kate had declined to go, Kate without a word of reason, Chris saying that he didn't think Scott would want them there. He'd made sure that Allison realized that she was now included a part of "them," but Allison had defiantly announced that she would go, and neither her father nor her mother, and certainly not her aunt who'd stopped speaking to her altogether, had tried to stop her. She'd purchased a modest black dress – something that would attract the least attention possible, the last thing she needed was Scott thinking she was trying to look sexy at his mother's funeral – and gotten the time and day from the local paper.

It was a relatively small service, held at noon in the local graveyard. A man from the local church – the kind that doesn't seem to have a denomination – was already speaking about how wonderful and strong a person Melissa McCall had been, holding down a difficult job while being a loving and attentive single parent, when Allison walked up. She'd planned on being a couple of minutes late; that way she and Scott could avoid trying to make conversation before the service.

"She was taken from us before her time," the man from the church was saying. _Is Scott religious?_ Allison wondered. _I never asked._

Scott himself was standing, rigid, right in front of the man from the church and the coffin, which was set on the scaffold that would be used to lower it into the ground. Again, she wanted more than anything to go to him, stand next to him, wind her hand around his and give him what strength she could, but she wasn't sure how he'd take that and she didn't want to cause a scene in the middle of Scott's mother's funeral.

The rest of the service, Allison couldn't help but think, was awfully generic. The man from the church said a few more words about good works that Melissa McCall had done in the community and that she was loved by all that knew her and would be missed. He then told the small crowd – Allison could pick out Stiles and his father, both standing to Scott's side, and a few other people she recognized from the hospital where Scott's mother had worked – that by Scott's request no one else would be speaking at the funeral itself, but a reception would be held at the Darger household on School Street if anyone was interested in congregating after the service. The man nodded at one of the undertakers, who began to lower the coffin. The crowd began to break up; Allison watched Stiles and his father walk over to Scott, Sheriff Stilinksi laying a hand on Scott's shoulder, but Scott waved them off, probably saying that he needed a minute. The sheriff caught sight of Allison as they turned to walk away and directed his steps toward her, Stiles following hesitantly behind.

"Allison," the sheriff said, hugging her quickly. "It's so good of you to have shown up. Scott's been so broken up about this – I'm sure he could use every bit of support he has right now."

"I know, "Allison said. "That's why I'm here."

The sherriff regarded Scott with a glance, which Allison shared. "He said he needs a few minutes and that he'd catch up to us later. He wasn't planning on going to this reception that Henry Darger is hosting – that's more for Melissa's work friends. Scott's staying with us for the time being – if he forgets just tell him we'll be at home, waiting for him."

"Okay," Allison said, the sheriff giving her a last smile before walking off toward the cars.

Stiles lingered a moment longer, waiting for his father to be out of earshot. "If I were you," Stiles said. "I wouldn't go over there."

"Why?" Allison asked.

"That's not my place," Stiles said, starting to walk away too. The look on his face was halfway between angry and sad. "But I'm just warning you. I wouldn't." He turned and jogged to catch up to his father, who slung an arm around Stiles' shoulders as they retreated toward the cars.

The coffin made a slight clinking noise as it hit bottom. The undertaker looked up at Scott and announced that he'd be back in half hour to remove the scaffold and finish covering the coffin with dirt, then turned and left as well, leaving only Scott and Allison standing by the open grave. It may have been Allison's imagination but its suddenly felt chilly.

Slowly, with not a little bit of hesitation after Stiles' discouraging advice, Allison approached Scott. "Scott?" she asked, when she was only a few feet behind him.

"Yes, I know you're here," he said. "I can hear your heartbeat. I know yours from a mile away. You think I'd missed it?"

Allison ignored the double meaning. "I just wanted to come and tell you how sorry I am," she said, drawing up beside him. He was staring as hard as he could at the coffin, not turning to face her. "You know, about everything."

"Everything," Scott muttered. "That's kind of a lot right now. Maybe you should be more specific. Because of Derek?"

Despite her better judgment, Allison felt herself get defensive. "I didn't kill Derek," she said. "Kate's the one who shot him."

"You shot him, too," Scott pointed out. "Put the arrows in him that let your aunt get close enough to put the bullet in his head that killed him. Much easier to kill a Beta than an Alpha. Guess I got lucky on that front. Oh, you shot the arrow that blinded me too, didn't you? Guess that wasn't the worst I took that night, but somehow it did feel the most personal."

"Scott, I was confused," she said, feeling a note of desperation creeping into her voice. _I will not cry_. "And you'd been lying to me and Kate was the only one who was giving me _answers_ and - "

"You did tell me to stop lying," Scott mused, his voice hard as granite. "Fine, no more lies. From here on out I will only ever tell you the complete, unadulterated, straight-from-my-head-to-your-ears truth. Exactly what's on my mind. Okay?"

"Okay," Allison said, her eyes welling. _Oh, God, I've lost him completely, haven't I?_

"Seems you also said that you didn't believe that everything I'd been doing was to protect you," Scott mused again out loud.

"I believe now."

Scott laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Well, that's a relief," he said. "After I stay behind to protect her and her family _while my mother laid dying_ she comes around that I've been trying to protect her. A weight has been lifted from my heart. Catch me, I might fall from this new feeling of freedom."

"Scott - " Allison started, laying a hand on Scott's back. Scott immediately flinched, his uninterrupted stare at the coffin breaking as he looked down at the ground. "What? The cuts haven't healed?"

"Not completely," Scott said, gasping a little bit. Allison retracted her hand like it'd been burnt. "Stiles has been trying to find more information on the internet, but it's been slow going. Best guess, whenever an Alpha cuts a Beta the wound doesn't heal right away." Scott scowled, still looking down at the ground between them. "Then again, you'd probably know better than I would at this point. Your family has a lot more experience with werwolves than I do. Maybe I should be asking you."

"I'm not like them, Scott," Allison said, half-defensive, half ready to cry.

Scott finally looked at her. Instead of the gold they used to blaze, they were now a deep, blood red. Allison took an involuntary step back and Scott laughed. "Aren't you?" he asked.

"You're an Alpha now?" Allison asked, her breath catching.

"Yeah," Scott said, his eyes returning to normal. She almost wished they hadn't; Scott's brown eyes had always seemed so open and caring, and now were like a pair of precious jewels – beautiful but hard. "Funny, Derek thought that if I killed the werewolf who bit me I might be cured. Instead this happened. Isn't it grand? I suppose this makes me a target again."

"We have a code - " Allison began.

"'We,' she says," Scott interrupted, again laughing that harsh laugh. _Not a single thing he's saying or doing sounds natural_, Allison thought. "Well, fine. Let's talk about your code. It has something to do with killing, right? Like, you can't kill a werewolf unless you have proof that the werwolf has killed. Well, I've killed. I killed Peter. Doesn't _that_ make me a target?"

"No," Allison muttered, looking down, now refusing to meet Scott's eyes.

"And why not?" Scott asked, although his tone heavily suggested that he already knew the answer.

"Because you have to kill a human in order for the code to apply," Allison said, scratching at the ground and wishing she'd taken Stiles' advice.

"Have to kill a human," Scott repeated. "But another werewolf doesn't count. Another werewolf doesn't matter. I think that speaks volumes about your 'code.' But you know, it doesn't really matter to me. Not anymore. Come after or me or don't come after me, I don't care. I wouldn't have even stayed this long here if I didn't still have responsibilities."

"Responsibilities?" Allison asked, choking back the tears that were again threatening to fall.

Scott gave her a sideways, calculating look. "What the hell," he muttered. "I told you I'd be completely honest with you. Might as well gamble with Lydia's life on that."

"Lydia's life?" Allison asked. "What?"

"Peter bit her. She's turning."

Allison shook her head to clear the cobwebs. "She's a werewolf now?" she asked.

"Right in one," Scott said, looking back down at the coffin. "Takes a little longer to really start feeling it for girls, I guess. She's still in the hospital – I talked to her the other day, explained everything. She's...coping. Point is, if I bail she's left completely alone. You know what they call a werewolf without a pack?"

"What?" Allison asked.

"Dead," Scott replied. "Something Derek tried to impress on me before your aunt murdered him. You can whine and be all righteous about your code all you want – how long do you think it'd be before Kate got to her, if I left her alone? So we develop an understanding."

"What understanding?" Allison asked, the sense of horror mounting inside of her.

"If anything happens to Lydia, and I mean _anything_, I'm coming for Kate, and I'll kill her."

"Scott, this is crazy - "

"No, this is our lives now," he said, harshly. He turned away from the coffin. "It'd probably be best if you relayed that message to the rest of your family. Let them know what we won't kill of our own accord – that'll make your dad happy – but we will defend ourselves, and remember that if anything at all happens to Lydia, Kate's life is mine." He started to walk away, not toward the cars or civilization, but toward the woods.

"Scott, wait," Allison said, running to catch him by the arm. "I love - "

"Don't," Scott interrupted, shaking his arm out of Allison's grip. "I just can't hear those words from you right now. I don't think I'll ever be able to, after everything."

He broke into a run. By the time he'd hit the treeline he'd begun to shift. As soon as he'd disappeared into the woods, Allison heard a deep, guttural howl – the howl of an Alpha.

***/\***

When she arrived home, Allison found her mother, father, and aunt all sitting around the dining room table, waiting for her. Still a little dazed, she nonetheless wiped the tears from her eyes and sat down in the chair her father offered to her.

"How'd it go?" Chris asked his daughter.

"Not, uh, not well," Allison replied.

"Did he hurt you?" Victoria asked.

"No," Allison said, quickly. "No, he wasn't violent. He just had a lot to say."

"What did he say?" Chris asked.

Allison took a deep breath. "Lydia's turning," she said. "Killing Peter made Scott the Alpha, and now Lydia's becoming a werewolf, too."

Chris nodded. "I figured as much, on both counts," he said. "What else did he have to say."

Allison bit her lip. "He said they won't be violent unless they have to defend themselves," she said. "He wanted to make that very clear."

"What aren't you telling us?" Victoria asked, sharply.

Allison cringed. "He – he said that if anything happens to Lydia, anything at all, he'll kill Aunt Kate."

Kate snorted. "Huh. Figures."

"Shut up," Chris muttered. "Whatever's wrong with you, Kate, you're the reason all of this is happening, from the very beginning. I'd send you somewhere else but I don't trust anyone to keep a close enough eye on you."

"You don't say where I go and don't go," Kate muttered.

"I do now!" Chris roared, surprising both Kate and Allison, who jumped. "That little stunt of yours with the Hale family is what got us into this mess. Then, dragging Allison into the mix the other night just made things worse. Maybe Derek and Scott would have been able to deal with Peter without our interference, and maybe Scott's mother wouldn't be dead, if you hadn't stepped in that one. Now we've got a new Alpha on our hands, full of rage and anger, but unlike Peter the first thing he thinks of is still to protect his pack. There hasn't been one like that in years; that sort of thing will draw lone wolves for miles around to join him. But in the meantime, he's still a teenager going through an enormous emotional trauma, having just inherited massive power, and newly without an authority figure – in either the werewolf world or the human world – to reign him in. We're going to have to keep a very close eye on him."

"Yes," Allison said, her heart breaking in half. "We are."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I'd say that came out better than I'd thought it was going to. Excellent! As always, leave a review if you like what you see. Again, when this story was first published, this part said I wasn't planning on continuing it, but as of about now you should be able to see click the nifty little next button and keep reading.


	2. Dogs' First Night

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, yeah, it took all of about three reviews to convince me to keep going with this story. Let's see how chapter two goes.

DOGS' FIRST NIGHT

"I'd have thought you'd be excited to get out of here."

Lydia looked up from the magazine she'd been reading, sitting in her hospital bed. She'd already dressed in her jeans and blouse. Standing in the door to her hospital room was Scott McHall. "Hey, Scott,"she said, wiping at her eyes. She wore no makeup. Once upon a time that would have bothered her; now, for some reason, it felt right; like makeup would have been a futile attempt to hide something she'd never get away from. _Great, now I'm getting philosophical_. "My mom just isn't here yet."

"Want to walk with me?" Scott asked. "We can talk about tonight. Big night."

Lydia closed her eyes, shutting the magazine. "I'd rather just wait for my mom," she said. "We can talk later."

"We have to talk before tonight, Lydia," Scott said. His voice had a hardness to it she'd never heard before. She may have found it sexy if everything he'd said to her since she'd come to in the hospital hadn't scared the living hell out of her. "Tonight is your first full moon. Our – friends – are going to be keeping watch. We need to discuss what we're going to do. You can already feel it, can't you?"

Lydia squeezed her shut eyes as hard as she could. "Can't I just make it go away?" she asked. She'd asked similar questions, albeit with different words, when she'd finally accepted what Scott was telling her as truth and moved on to figuring out what to do about being a werewolf.

"We've been over that," Scott replied. "No matter how much either of us wishes it'd just go away, it won't. The only thing Derek had ever heard of curing it was killing the wolf that bit you. I did that and not only am I still a werewolf, I got to inherit the whole Alpha thing. Which is the other problem."

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked, looking up at Scott for the first time. She stifled her surprise at his appearance, not for the first time. Clothing wise he was the same old Scott – simple jeans, a plaid button-down shirt opened to reveal a plain gray t-shirt underneath. Everything else was completely different, from the way he held himself – rigid and stiff, like a tense statue – to the look in his eyes, which – she couldn't help it – made Lydia shiver. It was like the Scott she'd known since they were kids had checked out and left a perpetually-angry stranger in his place.

"This will be my first full moon as an Alpha," Scott said. He raised a clenched fist to look it over. "I don't really know what to expect, or how to prepare. I may need your help to keep from hurting people. Me breaking loose and hurting a bunch of people is really the last thing in the world we need right now."

"Because of the Argents?" Lydia asked, feeling that Scott had left the statement hanging.

"Because hurting people is wrong," Scott said, with absolutely no conviction. "But, yes, because of the Argents."

"Have you spoken - "

"No," Scott said, cutting Lydia off before she could get Allison's name out. "And I told you to stop asking."

"Stiles mentioned that Alphas can make Betas do whatever they want," Lydia muttered. "You're not doing that."

"No, I'm not doing that," Scott said. He was getting angry. "I don't want to control you, Lydia. I just want to help you, and for you to help me in return. We're all we have in this."

Lydia nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I know." Her phone buzzed on the table next to her. She picked it up, clicked it open, and read the text message there. "My mom," she said. "Wants me to meet her in the parking lot. Guess she's seen too much of the hospital and doesn't want to come inside. _She's_ seen too much of the hospital. Puh."

Scott smiled at her statement, a horrible twisting motion on new-Scott's face, which was really only capable of conveying anger. In particular the smile didn't change the look in his eyes a bit, which was enough to completely unnerve Lydia. Still, she plastered a smile on her own face, trying to appreciate the gesture he was making. "Do you want me to walk you out?" Scott asked.

"Sure," Lydia said. "If you're being useful you can carry my bag."

She handed him the duffel bag into which she'd packed everything of hers that had accumulated in the hospital room over the time she'd spent there and the two set out to exit the hospital, taking the elevator down to the first floor. Before the doors even clicked open, Scott stiffened. "What's wrong?" Lydia asked.

"The Argents are here," he said. "I can hear Allison's heart beat."

"You can distinguish her by her heart beat?" Lydia asked.

"Uh, yeah," Scott said, running a hand through his hair. "Old habits. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't bring that up with them. I think her father might take it the wrong way. Or the right way. That might be worse."

_I have no idea which is which,_ Lydia thought. Regarding the emotional train wreck that had once been a normal teenage boy, Lydia doubted that Scott really knew anymore either. The elevator chirped and opened its doors, by which time Scott had assumed the same expression he wore ninety-nine percent of the time these days – angry, but detached.

True to his word, Chris, Allison, and Kate Argent were standing by the entrance door, talking lightly among themselves. Lydia stiffened a bit at the sight of the last; she'd only ever seen Kate Argent a couple of times while hanging out with Allison _before_, and had never guessed that her friend's cool young aunt was actually a mass-murdering psychopath with a taste for slaughtering innocent werewolves in cold blood. _Then again, I don't think I can really be faulted for not guessing that_, Lydia reasoned.

Scott didn't miss a step, striding confidently out of the elevator, Lydia following behind him by just a step. She increased her pace to catch up but he caught the motion and increased his own pace, the gesture telling her silently to stay behind him. Lydia was more willing to comply with the silent request than she'd have liked to admit.

Chris Argent straightened up and faced Scott. "Scott," he said. "I don't believe I've seen you since our – meeting with Peter Hale. I wanted to tell you how very sorry I and my entire family are to hear about your mother's death."

Scott cut directly past the comment. "Was there something we could help you with?" he asked, for all the world sounding like a teenage boy being polite to a grown-up. Lydia, who hadn't fully learned how to utilize her own super-hearing, could nonetheless detect the angry tension in Scott's voice.

"Tonight is the full moon," Chris pointed out.

"Yes, it is," Scott agreed, playing dumb.

Chris nodded. "In the spirit of friendship, we wanted to offer you a safe place to spend the night."  
"A safe place?" Scott asked. Lydia could see just enough of his face to see that his eyebrows had raised.

"Yes," Chris said. He glanced around at the other people in the hospital lobby to make sure none of them were listening too closely to them. He lowered his voice. "We can provide a safe lockup for both yourself and Lydia. Totally isolated, totally safe for both of you – I'm told that werewolves can injure themselves quite badly if confined on the full moon."

Scott laughed. _I thought the smile was bad,_ Lydia thought. New-Scott's laugh was more like a bark than actual human laughter. "I'm wondering how many ways I can say 'fuck no,'" Scott said.

Kate, Allison, and Lydia all started at Scott's sudden rude language. Chris' lip curled. "I am trying to be civil and friendly here," he said. "Tonight is a full moon, and you have to take that seriously, Scott. If you or Lydia get out and hurt anyone, you know what the consequences will be."

"I'm taking it seriously, but I'll be damned before I tell you where we'll be tonight," Scott replied. "I don't trust you as far as Derek's corpse can throw you. The last thing I'm going to do is give you an opportunity to drum up an excuse to kill us. And let's get something else straight – we're not friends. You've decided that this code of yours stops you from trying to hurt us, which is all well and good. I'm sure that Allison conveyed my message about what happens if someone hurts Lydia."

Chris' lip curled further. Lydia saw Kate rubbing at a spot in her jacket and, sniffing at the air, smelled cold steel. _A gun_, she thought. _Lovely, let's have a shoot out in the hospital. The doctor said I should maintain a low-stress environment during my recovery_. "I don't appreciate threats, Scott," Chris said, his voice low and dangerous.

"I don't care at all what you appreciate," Scott replied. His eyes were like burning balls of marble. "I don't want to hurt humans. I'm not completely convinced that your sister here qualifies, but still, I suppose the principle applies. All that said, if anyone hurts Lydia, I will take her life." Scott smiled that awful smile again. "Kind of ballsy, keeping her here in town, despite knowing that."

"We don't intend any harm to come to Lydia," Chris replied, now actively gritting his teeth.

"You might want to remind her of that," Scott said, nodding at Kate. "She keeps rubbing her gun like that it's going to have an orgasm." Scott turned his gaze on Kate. "You know we can smell arousal? The other night, when you shot Derek, I wasn't sure exactly what I was smelling off of you, but once I sorted through the night's events I realized what it was. You're pretty twisted, aren't you?"

"That's enough," Chris said, clearly angry. "We won't hurt you unless you hurt other humans. Make sure to mind yourselves tonight or we'll be coming."

"We'll just be going, then," Scott said. "Really invigorating conversation, Mr. Argent. Maybe we should be pen pals."

He began walking out the door again, Lydia following. At no point in the conversation had he so much as looked in Allison's direction. Allison, for her part, had spent the entire exchange staring at Scott in a way that made Lydia want to cry for her friend. _For both of them_, she thought. _This whole thing has torn all of us apart._

They'd made it through the door and were halfway to her mother's car, where Lydia saw that her mother had live-parked and reclined the driver's seat to rest her eyes, when she heard Allison's voice behind them. "Scott! Lydia! Wait!"

Scott stopped walking, let Allison catch up, but didn't turn to look at her when he addressed her. "Not safe to just stop and stand in the middle of a parking lot," he said. "I think we all need to pay more attention to personal safety. You especially."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Allison asked, her brow furrowing, the same hurt look still swimming her eyes.

"You're living with a psycho-killer," Scott said, his word choice making him sound like a regular boy again for just a second. "Just make sure that if she ever asks you to dress up in a dog costume you find out what it's for first." He laughed. "You know, I really wouldn't be surprised if she actually has a dog costume, but I'm suddenly not sure I'd really want to know what it's for, you know?"

"Scott, will you just stop?" Allison asked. "All that back there, that's not you."

"It's me now," he said. "I'm a monster now, remember? I mean, I've been a monster the whole time you've known me, but now I'm _really_ a monster. I'm a killer, remember?" He sneered. "Oh, wait, that's right. Killing werewolves doesn't matter to you. Guess I'm not a monster after all. Think your dad would be happy if I went inside and made up? I know what'd make your aunt happy, but I'm not quite ready to let her blow my head off."

"Just stop!" Allison shouted, drawing alarmed looks from a few people milling around the front of the hospital.

"No," Scott said, his voice suddenly quiet. "I can't stop being what I've become, any more than you can stop being what you are now. You need to start getting used to that. Come on, Lydia, we're going."

"I'd like to stay and talk to Allison for a minute," Lydia said. Scott finally turned, to look at Lydia, his eyes flashing red. Before he could say anything, Lydia continued. "I thought you weren't going to control me?"

Scott regarded her for a second, then nodded, the red glow leaking out of his eyes until they'd returned to their natural brown. "Fine," he said. "I'll call you later so we can meet up. Make sure you answer your phone right away or I'll assume something's wrong."

He turned, walked across the lot to Lydia's mom's car, dropped her bag on the ground next to it, then proceeded around it until he hit the treeline, vanishing from sight. Lydia could almost feel him shifting once he was inside the treeline, changing to a more wolf-like form to run through the woods. Lydia turned to Allison, who was clearly holding back tears. "He wouldn't even look at me," she said.

"He's going through a lot," Lydia replied. "His mom, Derek, becoming the Alpha, me. Your family being – well, what they are. It's just a lot right now."

Allison nodded. "I know, but – I'm just worried that he's pretending that he's in control, because if he's only pretending then he's going to lose it and hurt someone, and then my father is going to go after him."

"That's why he's got me," Lydia said, sighing. "To keep him – anchored, I guess."

Allison shrugged. "Yeah," she said, trying to force a sound of cheer. "I'm glad he's got you. You know, for that."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "It's not like that," she said. "It's not even remotely like that. Look, Allison, Scott may be a completely fucked up jet crash right now, but he's still _your_ completely fucked up jet crash. We only ever kissed once and that was only because I was being a selfish bitch and he was – uh, under the influence of – uh..."

"The full moon," Allison finished. "Like tonight's full moon."

Lydia felt desperate. "Nothing like that is going to happen," she said. "He told me he was feeling weird all day that time, and while I feel a little strange I definitely don't feel like jumping his bones. I'm much too terrified for that."

Allison's hurt expression finally cracked a little. "You know, you should have taken up our offer," she said. "We really can guarantee your safety. My father has Aunt Kate on a short leash."

Lydia smiled. "A dog joke? Really?"

Allison covered her mouth. "I'm sorry!" she said. "I didn't even think."

"No, it's okay," Lydia said. "I think this is still an adjustment for all of us."

Allison smiled with her friend. "For real, though," she said. "You should both think about taking up my dad's offer. Call me if you change Scott's mind – or if you decide not to do what he says."

She turned to leave, luckily missing the cloud that passed over Lydia's face. _If I decide not to do what Scott says?_ she thought. _What does that mean?_

__***/\***

Lydia had called about a half hour after Scott had left her with Allison at the hospital to go over their plans for the night. Scott told her that Stiles would pick her up at seven to bring her to their destination. He'd listened, over the phone, to her conveying to her mother that she was going to a party and would probably crash at a friend's house. Her mother had sounded upset, but a few minutes of reverse psychology and reminders that her therapist had instructed her to continue "normal adolescent activities" got her to back off. _Reminds me of my own mother,_ Scott thought. He wished he hadn't lied to her quite so many times. Violently, he pushed that thought away, and went about the rest of the day's preparation.

That night, he sat in front of the school, waiting for Stiles and Lydia to show up. Stiles' Jeep pulled into the parking lot. He parked and the two exited the vehicle, moving slowly up the steps.

"You're kidding, right?" Lydia was saying. "This is where we're staying for the night? I still have nightmares about the last time we got stuck in the school at night."

"Look on the bright side," Scott said. "This time the Alpha stuck in the school with you is on your side."

"I didn't even know what an Alpha _was_ last time and I was still majorly freaked," Lydia muttered.

Scott pushed the doors open and led the way to the elevator. He pushed the button and then offered to let Lydia board first. Stiles pushed past too. Scott climbed on after them and hit one of the buttons on the control panel. "Where does this even go?" Lydia asked. "I've never seen anyone using it."

The elevator dinged and opened, revealing concrete walls and a lot of piping. "The boiler room," Scott said. "Stiles' idea."

"Guilty," Stiles said, grimacing as he saw that Lydia clearly wasn't thrilled with the accommodations.

"We're about thirty feet underground here," Scott said. "Only way up is the elevator. When Stiles leaves, he's going to load the elevator with Wolfsbane. The smell alone will keep us out of the elevator shaft. In the morning he'll clear it out and we'll head up. Simple."

Lydia nodded. Her heart was ready to thud its way out of her chest. "Okay," she said. She glanced around again. "Don't suppose you brought any cards or a TV?"

"Do you feel like you could focus on a game of cards?" Scott asked.

"No," Lydia admitted. She held up a hand. It was shaking. "That started about an hour ago. I haven't really been able to get my mind to focus on anything for more than a minute all afternoon."

Scott turned to Stiles. "You should get going," he said. "You still need to load up all the Wolfsbane we picked from around the Hale house."

Stiles nodded. His own gaze lingered on Lydia. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

She fixed him with a pointed stare. "That is a stupid question," she said. "No, I'm not going to be okay. Just get out of here."

Stiles tried to smile, but it didn't quite work. He turned on his heel, stepped back into the elevator, and was gone. Scott observed the door shutting before speaking. "That was a little mean, don't you think?" he asked.

"That was nothing compared with what you put Allison through earlier," Lydia snapped back, although the reference did make her feel a little bad.

"Stiles is trying to help us survive, and he's harmless," Scott said. "At this very moment Allison is preparing for the possibility of killing us. You haven't seen her with a bow and arrow and I hope you never have to, but rest assured – she is most definitely _not_ harmless."

"Doesn't mean you don't still love her," Lydia shot back.

"Can we change the subject, please?" Scott asked, the 'please' grating out his mouth like he was chewing scrap metal. "Are you beginning to feel the change?"

"No," Lydia said. She looked down at her hands. "At least, I don't think so. What does it feel like?"

"It hurts," Scott said. "A lot. You'll feel an itching sensation in your fingers, on your ears and face, and in your gums. Then everything in your stomach and chest region will start to feel like its on fire. That'll spread to your head. Luckily, that pain will cover up the pain of your claws and fangs sprouting for the first time – I figure that'd probably hurt a lot if you were capable of paying attention when it happened. Once its over, you've shifted. The pain is one of the most important parts of shifting on the full moon – it's part of what drives the madness. Usually, pain makes us stay human. On the full moon, for whatever reason, the pain of transforming actually makes us worse."

Lydia stood, gaping, staring at Scott. "I don't think I can do this," she said.

"Can or can't, it's happening," Scott said. When her expression didn't change, he nodded at the elevator. "Try to get out."

Lydia turned and walked toward the elevator, but as soon as she was close enough to press the button she felt a wave of nausea pass over her. She stumbled backward, only to feel Scott's strong arms catch her. "That's the Wolfsbane," he said. "That much of it would be a lot worse if you were to get any closer. In fact, I think we might be best trimming down the amount we use next time."

"That's horrible," Lydia muttered. "This whole thing is horrible."

"Yeah, pretty much," Scott replied. "They call what's happened to us being "Cursed by the Mark of the Beast" in some circles, did you know that? Stiles dug it up on the internet. I don't know about the mark of the beast but they definitely got the cursed part right."

Lydia stared at Scott. "That's from a movie, Scott," she said. "Cursed. Starring Christina Ricci."

"Really?" Scott asked. For a second, again he almost looked like a normal boy.

"Really," Lydia laughed. "And Stiles thought that was some kind of legitimate legend or something?"

"I don't know," Scott said. "I'll have to ask him tomorrow."

"That's - " Lydia started to say, but was cut off by a rumbling in her stomach. Her eyes widened and she held up her hands. "Scott – the tips of my fingers are itching like crazy."

Scott took a deep breath.

***/\***

Chris Argent was standing at the window of his living room, looking out. "Moonrise," he announced. Assembled in the room, along with Allison, were ten men, her aunt, and her mother. "The two in question have not yet harmed a human being. That said, if you encounter them in the wild tonight, defend yourselves. Under the sway of the full moon they will be wild and unpredictable. We don't know where they're hiding or even if they are hiding – they may have turned completely wild and just let the change happen on the street. Everyone is to fan out in groups of three to canvas the town. Keep in radio contact the entire time and report anything. Any questions?" No one said a thing. "Very well. Good hunting."

Allison cringed at the last word. _They're hunting Scott and Lydia_, she thought. Then she amended the phrase. _They may _have_ to hunt Scott and Lydia. Maybe I can put this to rest before it gets blown out of proportion._ Her father was checking the clip for his pistol – silver bullets, deadly to werewolves no matter where they hit, she cringed again – and waiting for his team, her Aunt Kate and her mother, Victoria, to be ready. True to what she'd told Lydia her father had been keeping a close eye on her aunt since the truth about what she'd done to the Hales came out. "Dad," she said. "I think I have a way of finding them."

Chris Argent cocked an eyebrow at his daughter. "Keep talking."

"Stiles Stilinski," she said, simply. "Scott trusts him. If anyone knows where they'll be tonight, it'll be him."

Chris thought for a second. "Couldn't hurt to check," he responded. "Call him."

Allison nodded and pulled her cell phone out, paging through the address book to the "S" section. With a pang she skipped the entry for "Scott" and dialed Stiles' number. He picked up on the second ring. "What do you want?" he asked, by way of greeting.

The harsh greeting from the usually laid back Stiles threw her. "Uh," she said. "I, um – do you know where Scott and Lydia are?" _Smooth, great._

"Who?" Stiles asked.

"Don't play games, Stiles," she replied.

"I'm not playing games," he said. "I'm legitimately re-inquiring the names of the people you're looking for, because it'd be really, really stupid of you to go looking for Scott and Lydia tonight."

"Why is that? Are they not safe?" she asked. Chris and the other assembled hunters all tensed.

"They're safe," Stiles said. "Extremely safe. The safest. And that's partially because they're no where near you. Scott made it very clear that he wanted you to have no part of this. Take my advice – do what I'm doing. Stay at home, read a book." He hung up.

"Well?" Chris asked.

"He knows where they are, and he says they're safe, but he wouldn't tell me," Allison said. She sighed and took a deep breath. "But he did tell me where _he_ is. I think we should go talk to him."

Chris nodded again. "He's our best lead," he said. "Three teams out canvasing is enough to spare us to follow this up, and it'll be worth it if we can figure out where they are to make sure they're contained. Kate, Victoria, bring the car around. We'll take Allison with us." He stopped, regarding his daughter, her cell phone still clutched in her hand. "Good job," he said. Her stomach flip flopped. Once upon a time, garnering praise from her father made her feel better than just about anything in the world. Now she wasn't sure if it meant she was doing a good job or just losing her soul. "Make sure to bring your bow," he added.

Chris insisted that Allison ride shotgun, her mother and aunt in the backseat, on the way to the Stilinski house. "Will the sheriff be home?" Victoria asked.

"I don't know," Allison said. "Probably. Unless there's something going on I'm pretty sure he's only in the office during the day."

"It won't be a problem," Chris said. "I can distract him while you have a word with Stiles in private. The thing is, honey, that you may have to be – unpleasant, with him."

Allison gave her father a look of forced incomprehension. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"Sometimes, this job requires that you lean hard on innocent people," her mother answered for her father. "He's already made it clear that he doesn't want to give you the information we need. You're going to have to make him give it to you."

"Torture him," Allison said, shaking her head in disbelief and denial. She looked briefly in the rear view mirror at her aunt, who didn't say anything.

"No," Chris said. "We need to keep our profile low here and I think torturing the sheriff's son would probably run counter to that. Anyway, torture itself rarely yields accurate results; threat of torture is much more effective. You have to intimidate him, Allison."

They drove the rest of the way in silence, as Allison mulled that over. _There's no way I can do this,_ she thought. Before she knew what was happening they'd pulled up in front of the Stilinksi house. Chris pulled his door open, circled the car, and opened Allison's door for her. She stepped out and went to shut the door when Chris caught it. "Bring the bow," he said, nodding at Allison's compound bow. Wordlessly, she complied.

Chris knocked on the door. Sheriff Stilinski was the one to answer. "Allison, Mr. Argent," he said, smiling. "Good to see you. I'm afraid Scott's not in right now – he's spending the night with Jackson Whittemore, the boy from the lacrosse team."

_That's their cover story? Lame. Unless there's something in it for Jackson, one phone call would ruin the whole thing. Unless there's something in it for Jackson..._ Allison paled. _Think about that later. _"Actually, we swung by to see Stiles, sheriff," Mr. Argent said, fixing a neighborly smile on; Allison had grown up thinking of it as his "salesman look." "We were on our way to the archery range – hence the bow – when Allison realized she'd misplaced her notes from chemistry. Stiles is number one in the class, so we were hoping he might let Allison copy his notes? I understand they have a test tomorrow."

"No, no test tomorrow," a voice from inside the door came. Stiles, still fully dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, was standing right there.

Allison choked down her doubts. "I'd still feel better," she said. "Don't like to miss a night of studying, you know?"

"Don't be rude, son, it's not cheating or anything," the sheriff said. Stiles gritted his teeth, grimaced, and nodded. Without looking at Allison he turned and marched down the hall to his room.

As they receded, both heard Mr. Argent speaking to Stiles' father. "I was actually meaning to talk to you about the contract for those P90s..."

Stiles entered his bedroom and sat down on the bed. Allison followed him into the room and shut the door. "So, was it just the section on the Noble Gases you were missing? 'Cause that'd be ironic."

Allison did her best to make her face impassive. "I get enough sarcasm from Scott these days, Stiles, I don't need it from you," she said. "We just want to help."

"That why you brought your bow and arrow?" Stiles asked, eying the compound bow slung across her shoulder.

"We need to make sure they're contained. Where are they?"

Stiles shook his head. "See, you should have been asking for English notes, because clearly your word comprehension is suffering. I'm not telling you. Scott doesn't trust you. Since you decided to play target practice with Derek I can't say I blame him."

"This is about _keeping the peace_ - "

"And again, I ask, why did you bring a bow and arrow?" Stiles asked. "You know, the first couple of nights, I tried to convince Scott that he was wrong about all of you. Then he told me how Kate murdered Derek in cold blood – how she was responsible for murdering his whole family years ago. And Scott said, 'Wait and see. Nothing will happen to Kate for this.' And he's been right. Your aunt gets to run around free despite you _knowing_ that she's murdered innocent people, while your people are out there ready to kill Scott and Lydia without a second thought so long as the first one is that they _might_ be about to hurt someone, at least. And you wonder why he doesn't trust you."

Choking back her doubts again, Allison tried to act tough – to act like Scott had been acting. "I don't care if he doesn't trust me," she said, every word cutting her on the inside. _This is necessary,_ she reminded herself. _It's the only way to make sure they don't get hurt tonight_. "Your dad seems to think Scott is at Jackson's. Pretty weak alibi, don't you think? Jackson would rat you guys out in a second."

Stiles paled, got quiet. "Maybe he grew a conscience," he said. "It's kind of his fault Lydia got bit in the first place."

Allison smiled in a way she hoped came across as predatory. "I doubt it," she said. "Jackson only does things that benefit Jackson. The night of the dance my father found him begging to be turned. That's what Scott promised him, isn't it? That he'd turn him."

Stiles looked furious. "Scott didn't promise him anything. I set it up."

"_You_ did?" Allison asked. "I don't think you can make werewolves, Stiles."

"No, but I could make Jackson believe Scott would make him one in return for this favor," Stiles said, looking completely pissed that he was divulging this to Allison. "Scott doesn't know anything about it. I promised I'd take care of everything for tonight and I couldn't think of anything else. I figured we'd just deal with it after the fact."

"Well, now you're going to deal with it now," Allison said, a plan forming and the words coming out of her mouth before she could talk herself out of it. "Unless you tell me where they are, I'm going back out there and telling the sheriff that Scott ran off in an awful, self-destructive mood and you and Jackson got scared and decided to cover for him. I'll make sure to act really upset. Your dad will order a search – how do you suppose that'll go? Do you really want your father running around in the woods on a full moon?"

Stiles' eyes were blazing with barely restrained hate. "Scott and Lydia are safe, and the world at large is safe from them," he said, although the words were distorted as he ground his teeth. "My dad would be perfectly safe out there."

"Maybe," Allison said. "But then he wouldn't find Scott tonight, and then tomorrow you'd have to explain where he was, and at the very least you'd lose your father's trust, which, aside from being something I'm sure you value, would make having a werewolf live with you that much more difficult. Or, you just tell me where they are, we go verify that everything's okay, and we all go home happy."

Stiles just sat for a moment while Allison tried to keep projecting the aura of power. _This is almost fun_, a part of her brain that she didn't want to acknowledge thought. "Fine," Stiles said. "They're at the school, in the boiler room. The only way out is the elevator and we filled that with Wolfsbane. No way they can get out. Oh, and I'm coming with you to 'verify' that they're safe." _Yes!_ Allison exulted on the inside. _I did it!_ _I could almost get used to this._ And then Stiles continued. "You know, I'd thought maybe Scott was wrong about _you,_ at least. And he was. You're even lower than they are. You're supposed to care about him."

Each word was like a punch in the gut. "I am doing this for him," Allison replied, but it sounded small even to her.

"_Right_," Stiles replied in turn, sarcasm positively dripping from the word. "Come on, let's get this over with."

After explaining to Stiles' father that Stiles had decided to come with them to see if he was any good at archery, and a pointed glance at her father confirming that this was part of the deal, they walked back out to the car. Allison resumed her place at the front and, neither her mother nor Kate wanting to give up the window seats, Victoria stepped out to allow Stiles to sit in the middle.

As Chris pulled the car out of the Stilinski driveway, Stiles turned to Kate. "So, how's being a murderer?" he asked.

Kate's lip curled. "I don't know. How's sitting right next to me?"

Stiles looked down at the scant space that separated them and grinned in mock sheepish embarrassment. "Sorry," he said. "I have this condition where sometimes I say things I really, really mean, even when they're potentially hazardous to my health. Any second now I'm probably going to start theorizing which level of Hell you're going to wind up in when you die."

Chris looked in the rear view mirror. "I agreed to bring you because Allison seemed to want you to come along," he said. "We could pull the car over and throw you out. Or skip the pulling over part."

"Right," Stiles said. "Fine. Shutting up."

A couple of minutes later they pulled into the school parking lot. Stiles demonstrated how they'd propped one of the doors open by taping over the latch – the door appeared completely shut to the average passerby but in fact swung open as soon as Stiles tugged on it. Stiles led Chris, Victoria, Kate and Allison down the school corridors until they reached an elevator Allison had never seen before.

Stiles twisted a key next to the elevator and it dinged and opened. Kate was the first to react to the elevator's contents – she laughed. "Damn, that's a lot of Wolfsbane," she said. "Must be enough for about a thousand bullets here."

"And they're down there?" Chris asked Stiles.

"Listen," Stiles said.

All five of them stopped talking and moving. Dim, because the sounds were filtering up an elevator shaft that ran thirty feet down and through both the elevator's floor and bottom floor's sealed door, Allison could hear growls and yelps and the occasional sound of an impact of flesh on cement. _Oh, God, they're hurting each other_, Allison thought.

Her father's thoughts were elsewhere. "Allison," he said. "Can you confirm that there's no other way out of this basement than this elevator?"

"I don't know," Allison said. "I've never been to the boiler room before."

Kate coughed. "Unless they've done some remodeling since we were last here, there's no other way out," she said. When all four of the others, even Stiles, gaped at her, she shrugged. "I did spend some time in the boiler room. Sue me." She looked over the pile of Wolfsbane, seemed to visualizing the elevator shaft underneath. "You know, this is another perfect opportunity," she continued, her tone changing. "We drop some flammables down the shaft and light it up. Story is a pair of horny teenagers thought they'd head into the basement for some necking and accidentally started a fire. Since it started so far down it'd probably light up most of the school by the time anyone noticed. All the evidence would be destroyed, and if we just left the Wolfsbane here, it'd make sure that they change back to their human forms when they die. Takes care of the whole mess."

"Kate, we've been over this," Chris said. "We're not killing them. Not until they try to hurt someone."

Stiles nodded his head. "Yeah, you guys are some heroes," he said. He looked over at Allison, his gaze full of contempt. "Doing this for him, huh? Do you really believe that?"

Allison felt her eyes welling with tears again and fought to keep them down. _I don't need my family seeing me cry, not now_, she thought. Her mother saved her from having to reply. "You don't know anything about what you're talking about, boy," she said. "Everything you say just reveals you as more and more a child."

"You know, you're right," Stiles said, surprising the Argents. "I am kind of a child. Want to hear something funny? _So are the people you're casually chatting about murdering._"

"Do we really have to listen to this?" Kate asked.

Stiles held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, this party was your idea," he said. "If you're satisfied, then I'm all for getting out of here."

"Someone should stay to make sure they don't break out," Chris said, glancing back at the elevator floor covered in Wolfsbane.

"I could," Kate volunteered, a cocksure smile gracing her lips.

"Yeah, I'm going to veto that," Stiles said, giving her a look that said he really thought she was crazy.

"Who said you have a vote?" Kate retorted.

"Enough!" Chris yelled. A growl from below them echoed his yell. He looked directly at Stiles. "Would it make you more comfortable if I was the one to stay?"

"Only if I stay too," Stiles said. "I can probably cook something up that you were dropping me off at Jackson's after our great family fun at the archery range."

Chris nodded, his palms outstretched. "Fine," he said. "Just promise me that you'll stop making jokes."

"I haven't made a single joke tonight, as far as I'm concerned," Stiles muttered, pulling his cell phone out and beginning to punch in numbers. "Jokes imply that something's funny."

Chris turned back to Victoria, Kate, and Allison. "I'll stay with the boy," he said. "We'll call as soon as we pull them out of the basement. Get on the radio and round the rest of the guys up, tell them to pack it in." He checked to make sure Stiles was engaged in his phone call and wasn't listening. "Hate to say it, but this was a pretty clever idea."

"Cleverness gets people killed eventually in this business," Victoria said.

Chris grimaced. "Possibly," he said. He smiled at Allison. "At least for tonight we managed to keep the peace."

Allison felt her stomach twist itself back into a horrifying cluster of knots, a feeling that wouldn't leave even as she climbed into bed that night and finally let herself start sobbing, silently, into her pillow.

***/\***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I seem to be inadvertently ending my chapters with Allison experiencing some form of bodily discomfort. What should next chapter be? She stubs her toe? Anyway, looks like this is going to be a multi-chapter affair after all. I have no idea how long this'll wind up being or exactly where it'll go but I'm pretty excited about the story, now that I'm digging into it. As ever let me know what you think.


	3. Conflicted

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I actually started this chapter before I even published the second one. I haven't done that literally in years. Maybe I'm growing standards again...? Only time will tell. Onward to story time.

CONFLICTED

When Scott's eyes came open the next day he was aware that he was pretty sore. He wasn't immediately sure why he was face down on ice-cold concrete, but his half-functioning brain assured him that he'd work it all out in due course. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, his memories beginning to return, and cast around the room for Lydia.

He found her, leaning up against one of the walls, watching him, clutching the somewhat tattered remnants of her clothes to herself in a pretty futile attempt at modesty. "You snore, you know," she said, matter-of-fact.

"Good morning to you too," he responded, pulling himself up to his feet. His own clothes were pretty well torn away too, but Scott paid it little attention.

Lydia paid it more attention, her eyes roaming lower from Scott's face. She grinned. "Well," she said. "Allison was definitely losing out when she let you go."

Scott looked down, blushed. "Trying to make me modest, Lydia?" he asked, trying to rearrange the rags that had once been his pants into a more decent arrangement.

Lydia smiled at him, a more genuine smile than he was used to seeing from the redhead. "This is the closest sort of thing to a morning after that we're ever going to have, Scott," she said. "I figure it's my opportunity to get you to relax and open up a little."

"Even if I'm already more open than I'm comfortable with?" he asked, giving up on the pants.

She laughed. "That was terrible," she said.

"Yeah, pretty much," Scott agreed. He crossed to stand in front of her, looking her over. He cringed. "Looks like I nicked you pretty good a couple of times last night."

Lydia felt her neck, where a small red line was still showing. "Yeah," she said. "What's up with this? I thought we healed cuts like this instantly."

"We do," Scott confirmed. "Except, for some reason, when a Beta is cut by an Alpha. Those cuts take forever to heal. I've still got scars from where Peter really dug in during the fight."

"Yeah, I can see," Lydia said, tracing a finger down Scott's chest, where the eight lines that had been formed by Peter's claws were still plainly visible. The contact actually hurt; the cuts were still tender, although Scott managed to not let on to Lydia. "Anyway, you didn't do anything like this to me, so I think I'll be okay – a few bandaids and some ointment and I'll be okay."

"Suppose we should head up, then," Scott said. He walked over to the elevator shaft and stopped short. "Uh," he said. "I wonder if Stiles is here yet."

"Wait, there's no way for us to communicate with him?" Lydia asked, following Scott over to the elevator door, both of them keeping from getting too close. She tried futilely to hold her clothing in place. "How will he know it's safe to clean out the Wolfsbane and send the elevator down for us?"

"Uh," Scott said again, scratching the back of his head. "We didn't think that part through?"

Lydia sighed. "Of course not."

About twenty minutes of standing around later, Scott heard the elevator doors up top open. "Uh, guys? Can you hear me? Are you okay to come up?"

Scott pried the door on their end open. "Yup!" he said, struggling to stay standing from the proximity of the Wolfsbane in the elevator above them. "We're back to normal. Can you get that shit cleaned out of the elevator and come get us? We'd kind of like to get out of here and get some actual clothes on."

A few minutes after that, the elevator began descending, dinging at the bottom and opening. "Sorry, didn't catch all of what you said," Stiles was already saying as he stepped off the elevator. "What was that about clothes? Whoa, Scott, I thought you said you were both okay!"

Scott had shifted as soon as the elevator door had opened. Although the Wolfsbane was cleared from the elevator, the residual traces had been muddying his senses. That's why he didn't realize, until the doors opened and he could see in, that Chris Argent was on the elevator, too. "What is he doing here?" Scott asked, through bared fangs.

"Oh," Stiles said. "Right, sorry. We've been up pretty much all night, I kind of forgot that you didn't know he'd be here. The Argents showed up at my house last night. Allison threatened to drag my father into the whole mess if I didn't tell them where you guys were."

Scott growled, low and dangerous, his hackles raising. His vision was beginning to cloud red. _How dare she_ was the only coherent thought he could manage.

"Scott, wait!" Chris said, holding his hands up. "She meant well. We're just trying to keep the peace. We needed to make sure you were secure. This little scheme of yours worked very well."

Scott, breathing heavily, forced himself to keep from shifting into full Alpha. He remained halfway, though, a close approximation of his old Beta form, only with eyes that glowed red. "I think perhaps there was a misunderstanding the last time we spoke," he said, his fangs making it sound like he was speaking through a mouth full of food. "The part about us not being friends meant that you were _not_ welcome to just drop in on us at your whim."

"This wasn't a whim, Scott," Chris said, still holding his hands up in front of him. Scott could smell the silver bullets in the gun that was tucked into his waistband. "We needed to be sure. While our code requires that we not harm you so long as you haven't harmed innocent humans, it also requires that we take all necessary steps to prevent you from harming people. There were too many unknown factors about how you'd handle this full moon."

"And have you satisfied yourself that we can take care of ourselves?" Scott asked, throwing his clawed hands out to indicate the boiler room.

Chris nodded. "Yes," he said. "This arrangement for your full moons meets all of our requirements."

"Glad you approve," Scott said, dryly. "Now GET OUT!" The last two words came out as a snarling roar.

"There's only the one elevator, Scott," Chris said. "Saves time if we all go up together. I'm sure you'd appreciate getting out of this damp basement."

"Do you very much want to be in a small enclosed space with me right now?" Scott asked, making sure his claws were in full view.

Chris shook his head, the cool expression not changing. "Let's avoid having a misunderstanding right now, shall we?" he asked. "I am not afraid of you, Scott. For now, the code protects you, but if that changes, as far as I'm concerned you're just another rabid dog waiting to be put down. And I've put down a lot of rabid dogs."

"I'm sure PETA will be looking to make you their spokesperson," Stiles said, quickly. "Look, one way or another, can we just get out of here? You weren't kidding about it being cold down here."

"Tell me about it," Lydia muttered.

In the end, all four of them piled into the elevator, Chris and Scott standing on opposite sides glaring daggers at each other, although Scott had managed to shift all the way back to human. "You cold?" Stiles asked.

"No," Scott said. The rigid posture was back and he'd stopped caring about how revealing his torn clothes were; instead, he felt rather like he was wearing them as a badge of honor in front of Chris Argent's impeccably pressed and neat attire. _And he just stayed up all night, too. Guess maybe that's something he's done once or twice too_.

"Yeah, a little," Lydia said. Stiles stripped off his jacket and handed it to her. Gratefully, she wrapped it around her shoulders and hunched down so that it'd cover as much of her as possible.

When the elevator reached the top all four piled out, quickly exiting the school. Per the plan, Stiles had stashed the Wolfsbane in an unused janitor's closet near the boiler room, for their use the next month. Outside, Scott saw the Argent family SUV as well as Stiles' Jeep. "We sent someone to get them last night," Stiles explained. "Figured that a car ride home with the professional wrestling version of Steve Irwin here wouldn't sit well after everything."

"Good call."

The three teenagers peeled off the walk toward Stiles' Jeep. "Scott," Chris said. All three turned to face him. "I just want a brief word," he said, toward Lydia and Stiles.

"We'll be right over there," Stiles said, nodding toward the Jeep. Scott nodded in confirmation.

"What?" he asked.

"I think, in light of everything, and your reaction down in the basement, that I'd rather you not see or try to contact Allison anymore," he said. "I think that bridge is pretty well burned, actually."

Scott raised his hackles. "Maybe you should tell her that," he said. "She's the one who keeps calling me. And threatening my friends, apparently. Daddy's little girl, huh?"

"We're not so bad, Scott," Chris said. "I know you have no reason or need to believe me, but I'd still like you to try and understand that. Sometimes we have to make bad, hard decisions, and sometimes that breaks some of us, my sister included. I just wanted to tell you that, too."

"You can take your bad, hard decisions and shove them," Scott hissed. "Better yet, you can explain them to Derek's grave. I can give you directions if you'd like. I had to bury him myself."

Chris shook his head. "Someday you'll get it," he said. "It's not going to be pretty when you do, either."

"Whatever," Scott said, turning his back on Chris Argent. "This is the same old argument. Can we just not and say we did? Oh, and make sure you mention what we talked about to Allison. If at all possible I'd rather not see her again. Ever. That'd probably be what's best for her health, too."

Chris continued shaking his head as Scott climbed into Stiles' Jeep and the three teenagers sped away.

***/\***

Allison had given up pretending to sleep at six o'clock that morning and wandered downstairs to find her mother and a fresh pot of coffee waiting for her. Wordlessly, her mother poured her a cup and the two had sat, waiting for her father's return. When he finally came through the door Allison's eyes had started to itch from being open for too long, although she knew there was no way she could have slept if she'd tried.

Chris Argent, despite having been awake as long, looked a bit better. _Guess he's done this before_, Allison thought, taking stock of her father's still-smooth clothes and alert eyes. _How many times was he out watching werewolves for the night while I was sleeping?_

"Well?" Victoria asked.

"They were fully contained all night," Chris said. "Their plan at the school worked marvelously. For a bunch of kids who only learned about all this a couple of months ago I'd say they're compensating very well."

"So they're okay?" Allison asked, chewing on a fingernail.

Chris gave her a heavy look. _Uh oh_, she thought, feeling her stomach sink. "Yes, honey, they're okay," Chris replied. "But – well, I think we need to have a discussion about you and Scott."

_Definitely uh oh_. "Why?"

Chris sighed and pulled out a chair to sit down at the table. Victoria passed him a cup of coffee, which he accepted with a grateful smile. "He was – angry, when Stiles informed him of how we'd come by the information about where they were last night," Chris said. "He very nearly shifted on me right then and there."

Allison's first reaction was to be horrified at the idea of Scott almost shifting and trying to kill her father, but her mother clearly was surprised by something else. "What do you mean, he _nearly_ shifted?" she asked.

"Just that," Chris said. "He started to and stopped. It wasn't a simple half-form transformation, either, he was on his way to full Alpha when he just willed himself to stop. And before you ask, Victoria, no, I haven't seen or heard of an Alpha who could do that before."

"How was it possible?" Victoria asked, sharply.

"Maybe it was from the physical exhaustion of the full moon the night before. I'm not sure," Chris replied, running a hand through his hair. "I'm starting to think that Scott is different from other Alphas we've encountered before. I don't remember ever hearing about an Alpha that had only been turned a couple of months before becoming an Alpha. Most of the time they're either completely wild or they've been at it for years; Scott is neither of those things. Still," he said, turning his attention back to Allison. "Able to clamp down on the change or not, he still reacted with murderous anger to the news of how you'd gotten the information out of Stiles. I don't think you should see him anymore. I already told him as much."

"What?" Allison asked, not quite as sharp as her mother, but close. "What did he say?"

"He agreed," Chris said. He grimaced. "As a matter of fact, he said it's probably what would be best for your health."

Victoria nodded, a look of grim acceptance on her face. "But - " Allison started to say.

"No," Chris said, the slight note of gentleness disappearing from his voice. "No 'buts,' Allison. From now on, you don't go near Scott McHall without at least two armed hunters with you. And," he said, on sudden inspiration, "I think it's time we started your training."

"My what?" Allison asked.

"Training," Victoria repeated. "We all go through it. It'll help you to understand who and what you are, and what they are."

"And what if I don't want to do it?" Allison asked.

"We can't afford to pretend like you have a choice," Chris replied, his voice still hard. "Not anymore. Not after I watched an Alpha feel so much anger and rage toward you that he almost shifted right then and there."

Allison hung her head. "When do we start?" she asked.

"Right away," Chris replied. He grinned at her, although it didn't look like a nice grin. "Ever wonder if you could beat me in a race?"

Within an hour's time she knew that the answer was an unequivocal 'no.' While both of them had been awake all night, Chris had been physically active for more of it, and Allison thought that might give her an advantage; on the contrary, her father seemed as awake and strong and fast as he ever did. When he'd laid out the six mile long course they were to run she'd thought he'd been kidding. By the time she came to a stop at the end, panting and feeling like she was ready to vomit, she wished he had been.

He was grinning. "Not bad," he said.

"I feel like I'm dying," Allison managed to get out between deep gasps of air.

"Don't worry about it," her father responded. They were standing in their own driveway. He opened his car and pulled out a bottle of water, which he tossed to Allison. She unscrewed the cap, her fingers slipping over the smooth plastic, and did her level best not to inhale the water in her haste. "The first time your grandfather made me go on one of these runs after a sleepless night I didn't even finish. I collapsed three quarters of the way through and was in the hospital for three days."

"Really?" Allison asked.

Chris nodded, laughed. "And that's nothing compared to what happened to your Aunt Kate."

Allison smiled, despite herself, passed the water to her father. "What happened to her?"

He took a big chug. "She wouldn't do it."

Allison quirked an eyebrow. "She wouldn't? Seems like her kind of thing."

Chris took another swig of water and re-capped the bottle. "It does, doesn't it?" he said. "I don't think she minded the physicality. She minded – minds – being told what to do. That's why she's still asleep right now. She does what she wants." His face clouded. "Apparently more so than I knew. Allison, I know that you're – conflicted, right now, but I need for you to know that we're not supposed to act like your Aunt Kate has acted. I'll be honest, I'm not sure what we're going to do with her long term."

"Do you mean punishing her?" Allison asked, her own face clouding.

"I don't know," Chris admitted. "We don't really have a punishment for our own when they kill werewolves they're not supposed to kill. The code talks about what to do with the wolves themselves and when not to kill them. It doesn't say anything about what to do with hunters who kill unnecessarily."

"Dad," Allison said. "You keep mentioning this code. Is it something I can read?"

The clouds on Chris' face broke and he smiled. "Interested in the family legacy, huh?" he asked. "No, Allison, it isn't something you can read. The code is an oral tradition. We pass it down through our families. We've always planned on introducing you to it, just not until you were ready. I don't think we ever admitted it to ourselves, but part of the reason we've kept you sheltered so long is that we didn't want you to turn out like Kate." He laid a hand on Allison's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "But I think you're ready now. Would you like to start learning it?"

Allison nodded and the two walked inside, arm in arm, like any normal father and daughter. Neither noticed Scott watching them from the trees.

***/\***

As soon as the door had shut, Scott turned from the Argent house and began to bound into the forest. He could already feel the shift coming on and despite being reasonably self-confident, he still didn't want to take the chance of transforming too close to people.

He was well inside the forest by the time he'd made the shift into his full Alpha form, shrugging his way out of the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing as they became too tight to fit his expanding, brown-haired body. His breathing was heavy and his heart was pounding so loud he thought they'd probably be able to hear it back at the Argent house. Selecting a large conifer, Scott bounded up, dug his claws into the bark, and dragged them down.

_How fucking dare she?_ he thought. The thought repeated in his head several times and he began tearing faster at the tree, sending bits of shredded wood flying into the air. _I can't believe it. The nerve. The nerve!_ "She threatened him!" he grunted under his breath, his voice a horrifying creation of a throat designed for ingesting large amounts of raw meat and not for speaking, wood debris hitting him in the face. "She's just like them! God damn it she's _just like them!_" His attack on the tree grew into a feverish pitch and the words he was thinking and shouting turned into a long, sustained, growling cry.

Finally, Scott collapsed back, breathing heavily, and he shifted back into his human form. When he looked up at the tree, expecting to see it completely wrecked, he realized that he'd somehow cut a demented, deeply trenched and messy version of the message "S + A" into the trunk of the tree. He sat there, naked, staring at it for a long time, unable to figure out how it'd gotten there.

***/\***

By mid-afternoon Allison had agreed with her father that they'd studied enough for the first day. He'd told her he'd quiz her on some of the details the next day, and by that point she'd learned enough not to smile or laugh; she knew he was serious. Tired as she was between the sleepless night, the impromptu quarter-marathon, and the several hours' discussion on the history of their family, she still felt an exhilarated rush at how far she'd come in only a day.

_I didn't realize there'd be so much to it_, she thought, walking heavily up the stairs. Her mind wandered to the hot shower she planned to take and she wondered if her parents would begrudge her sleeping in the rest of the day. _It'd be just my luck if this training thing means they dump me out of bed every opportunity they get. Private Benjamin, reporting for supernatural family duty._

She pushed the door to her bedroom open, already beginning to peel at the corner of the sports bra she hadn't bothered to change out of for the study session, and stepped inside, only to find Scott sitting on the edge of her bed, his body stiff as a board, staring at her wall with wide, unblinking eyes. After the half-second of nervous fear at finding someone unexpected in her bedroom passed, she had another several seconds' hesitation. _This is so a bad idea_, she thought, but nonetheless she stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind her. He didn't acknowledge her right away and, not sure what was going on, the first thing she said didn't make her out to be a genius. "How'd you get in? The window's closed."

"I shut it after I came in," Scott replied, still staring at the wall. _Duh_. "It's cold out there."

"Scott, it's seventy degrees out," Allison said, her brow furrowing in worry. Looking closer she could see that his entire body seemed to be shaking. "What's going on?"

"I just...I came in to get out of the cold," Scott replied. "Why is it cold?"

"Scott, you're scaring me," she said. She glanced around. "Maybe I should call Stiles. Or a doctor."

She kept looking around the room, trying to remember where she'd left her cell phone, when Scott's next words froze her solid. "Did he teach you about killing us?"

Despite how Scott had been acting since the night with Peter, the question didn't seem to have any sarcasm or malice behind it. _He sounds scared,_ Allison thought. "What do you mean?" Allison managed to say.

"Down there," Scott said. "You were talking about codes and situations. I didn't catch all of it. I couldn't focus for very long. Was he teaching you about killing us?"

"I – no," Allison said. "Well, yes. Kind of. You're right, it was about situations. Mostly we were talking about situations like – like ours. Where we don't kill you. There's a lot of different guidelines for these things. It's not such a bad thing, the code."

"It's weird, thinking there's a code that determines whether I live or people kill me," Scott said. "Which shouldn't be weird. We live in a country with a death penalty. Isn't that weird? Remembering the death penalty. There are people out there that the country kills."

"You want to hear the really weird thing," Allison said, inching closer to the bed, hoping that maybe whatever pall had been cast over Scott was finally breaking. "I used to be against the death penalty."

Scott chuckled to himself, but the sound didn't carry any happiness. Allison froze again, stopped inching toward the bed. "Used to be," he repeated. _Oh, no_. "Now how do you feel about it?"

"I don't know," she said, hoping to dodge the issue. "Conflicted, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess you do," he said. He'd stopped shaking. He still sounded calm and his voice lacked the angry sarcasm she'd been hearing in it of late. He stood, slowly, as though the movement took a great deal of his energy. "I'm sorry I came here. I shouldn't have." He turned toward the window.

"Scott, wait," Allison said, trying to catch his arm. He agilely avoided her grasp, but did stop walking. "Can't you stay? Can't we talk?"

"No, Allison, we can't talk," he replied, still facing the window. "We can't talk anymore. We aren't _we_, anymore. What you did to Stiles last night was unforgivable."

Allison screwed up her face, put on a hard expression. "I did what I had to do," she said. "To keep the peace."

"Would you have done it?" Scott asked, quietly.

"What?" she asked back, confused.

"Would you have gone to Stiles' father?" he asked. "Or was it a bluff?"

"I don't know," Allison admitted. "I guess. I mean, I guess I would have had to figure that out if he hadn't caved."

Scott nodded. "And you can't see why you going to Stiles, who only has one parent left, and threatening to put that parent in danger, to get to me, would be a problem for me right now?"

_Oh...no._ Suddenly Allison could tell just how cold it was outside, because that cold had invaded her somewhere in the chest region. She felt for a second like she couldn't breathe. _What did I do?_ She thought. _Oh, God, what did I do?_ Scott turned to face her. His eyes were wide, round, crazy. "I hate you for that," he said, still in that calm tone, which Allison now recognized was anything but calm. He was on the verge of hysterics. She could relate.

Before she could say anything else, the door to her bedroom swung open. "Hey, Allison, I thought you were going to get in the shower - " her aunt was saying, but she stopped mid sentence upon seeing Scott. Without missing a beat, she reached into her waistband, produced a handgun, and began firing. Scott reacted instantly as well, roaring the deep, full-throated roar of an Alpha, pushing Allison down onto the bed and, despite several of Kate's bullets striking him, turning and vaulting through the closed window, shattering the glass. Allison was in too much shock to do anything as Kate ran to the window and fired several shuts out of it before ducking back inside.

"Are you okay?" Kate asked, looking down at Allison on the bed. Allison could only struggle to get her breathing under control, her own eyes wide and round as well.


	4. Automatic Response

AUTOMATIC RESPONSE

Several days later, Scott had managed to avoid the Argents completely. He hadn't informed Stiles or Lydia of his visit to their home, either, and had expected the hunters to show up at the Stilinski home, seeking retribution. When they hadn't come he'd been curious, but not enough to go asking. _Distance is better_, he thought. _Maybe all that 'keeping the peace' bullshit can work that way_. And not seeing Allison had the added bonus of helping Scott maintain his sanity; he'd blocked out pretty much everything that had happened from the time he'd left Stiles' house to go to the Argents' up until he'd showed up back at the Stilinski house and he'd managed to keep them from noticing the bullet holes in his shirt.

Lydia had surprised him with a phone call that morning, asking him to meet her at a spot out in the woods. When he'd asked what for, she'd said, "Instruction," and had hung up, sounding every bit the typical Lydia.

She was already there when Scott arrived, standing awkwardly next to a tree. Scott had traveled the werewolf way, loping through the forest, and had approached the last hundred meters in the trees. As such he dropped silently out of the tree right in front of Lydia, who gasped and started at his sudden appearance. "Hey, Lydia," he said. He tried to grin at her reaction, but it didn't feel like it came out right.

She affected a tight smile for him. "Hey, Scott," she said, shortly. "Nice entrance."

"I try," he said, dryly. "Your message was brief. I mean, any more than that and I'd have thought you were getting wordy and gushy on me, but it was appropriate. Appropriate for not explaining anything about what you want. Why are we here?"

"Like I said, instruction," Lydia said, pursing her lips. She'd brought a purse with her and, Scott noticed for the first time, worn a track suit, something he was pretty sure he'd never seen Lydia wear before. "I've been a werewolf for about three weeks now. I'd like to start learning what it means to be a werewolf. You know, what we can do, all that. The internet can only go so far."

Scott nodded. "True enough," he said. "Stiles and I came to that same conclusion pretty quick. Well," he said, sighing, stepping away from Lydia, "we've already gone over some of the basics. Anger makes you change. Pain makes you change back. The full moon makes you crazy. Wolfsbane makes you sick; getting it inside you makes you dead. Silver's bad for us too." He scratched his head as she fell into step beside him. "Let's see...when you change, you're stronger, but you'll have a blood lust to contend with too. And you get...claws?"

Lydia regarded him with an open mouth. "That was the most pathetic description I've ever heard," she said.

"You know, figuring some of that stuff out took time and work and not a small amount of pain on my part," Scott said.

"Yeah, I'm sure the first time you changed and looked down and saw your hands, it took a lot of hard work to figure out that you'd grown claws."

Scott scowled. "Fine, here's something you don't know," he said. "I can force you to shift."

Lydia stopped. "I knew you could control me if you wanted," she said. "I didn't realize you could force me to change."

Scott nodded. "Peter did it to me once," he said. "Tried to get me to kill someone. I didn't," he added, seeing Lydia's fearful look. "Peter is the only person I've ever killed. Not that he qualifies as a person, according to the Argents."

Scott's face darkened. Lydia jumped in quickly. "Maybe they have a point, at least where Peter was concerned," she said. "I mean, I'm not saying that all werewolves are monsters, but I think we can pretty much agree that he was one."

The dark look mostly faded, but a little edge remained in Scott's demeanor. "Yeah, I guess," he said. "Anyway, yeah, if I wanted to I could make you shift. Right now, even."

"How?" Lydia asked.

"Uh," Scott said. He scratched his head again. "I don't know, actually." When Lydia gave him another exasperated look, he spread his hands out in front of her. "If there's a user manual to this whole thing, feel free to direct me toward it."

"If there was a user manual I wouldn't have to be asking you all these questions," Lydia replied. They began walking again. "What do you know?"

"Enough," Scott replied. "So long as we keep strong feelings in check, we won't shift. It's harder at first, but you get used to it over time. And so long as we take all the necessary precautions on the full moon, we'll be able to lead otherwise normal lives."

"With a group of murderous hunters looking over our shoulders," Lydia finished. "Yeah. Normal lives. Maybe I can get back to dating."

"You're not going back to Jackson, are you?" Scott asked, bypassing the reference to the Argents for Lydia's sake.

"Maybe," she said. "I talked him down after Stiles' promise fell through the other day."

"Was he angry?" Scott asked.

"He was Jackson," she replied. "You know, 'I'll do this, I'll do that.' I managed to placate him in the end though."

"How?"

Lydia shot Scott a sour look. "I have my methods. He likes my methods very much."

Scott blushed. "Oh," he said. _I really don't want to ask the next question. _"Uh...how'd that go?"

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Did you want me to draw you a picture?" she asked. "I didn't know you were a pervert."

Scott blushed even deeper. "I'm not," he said. "Look, it's just – getting turned on is one of the things that causes you to shift. I was just worried."

"Don't worry, I was in no danger of shifting, unless boredom and neck cramping are also causes," Lydia said, again with a sardonic note.

Scott glanced at Lydia sideways. "You know, you don't have to do things like that," he said.

Lydia laughed, plucking a twig from a low branch as they walked by, snapping it, and tossing it to the ground. "Is this the, 'you're powerful now and don't have to put up with that anymore,' speech? I'm pretty sure I've heard it enough times on Nickelodeon."

"No, it doesn't have anything to do with being a werewolf," Scott said. "No one should have to put up with that kind of thing."

Lydia gave Scott another genuine smile. "Thanks," she said. She tossed her hair. "I appreciate it. But it was my choice to do what I did, and I might choose to do it again if the situation calls for it. You never know."

Scott shook his head. "Whatever," he said. "Like you said, it's your choice."

Lydia was about to respond when they both heard a rustling in the bushes. Scott's hackles raised immediately and he sniffed at the wind, a reflex he'd developed since he'd started getting used to his enhanced senses. _Have to remember to tell Lydia to start using her nose first_, he thought. _That's probably the kind of thing she brought me out here for in the first place._

A tall, lanky form straggled out of the woods. He was clearly older than them, in his mid-twenties maybe, wearing a ratty Megadeth t-shirt and a pair of torn jeans, with no shoes. His hair was long and greasy, but he had a friendly look in his eyes. "Hey there," he said.

"Hello," Scott said, trying to relax. _Almost shifted in front of his guy,_ he thought. _Better control. Better control_. "What's up?"

"Not much," the man replied, nodding his head. "Just looking for the Alpha in these parts. That's you, right?"

Scott's gaze tightened into a laser focus immediately. Lydia gasped at the question. Scott felt his claws sprout immediately. _No sense in holding it back if he already knows_, he thought. "Who wants to know?" Scott asked.

"My name's Jason," the man said, extending a hand. "I'm a Beta, like her. I'm looking for a pack."

Scott regarded the hand with a not small bit of consternation. He took another whiff – the man smelled a little like he remembered Derek smelling, but there were sweet notes to his scent as well which, after a confused second, Scott identified as marijuana. _Werewolf pothead_, Scott thought, accepting Jason's offered handshake. _Wonders will never cease_. "Scott," he said. "This is Lydia."

"Excellent," the man said.

"Your timing is great," Lydia said, forcing a smile for Jason's benefit. "Scott's an Alpha and I'm a Beta, but we're both still pretty new to this and don't really know a ton about being werewolves. Maybe you can help us."

"Dude, totally!" Jason said. "I know loads about being a werewolf. Like, you know, we have claws and stuff, right?"

Scott nodded, turned to look at Lydia. "And you thought my explanation was pathetic," he said.

Jason frowned. "Don't sweat it, I know lots of other stuff," he said. He raised a hand to his head, scratched at his hair for a second. "Did you know that you can live off food as a wolf or as a human?"

"No," Scott said. He glanced at Lydia, who shrugged. "We've never tried eating in our wolf forms."

"Dude, you must be _really_ new," Jason replied. "I've eaten a half dozen and I was full for like a week afterward."

"I'm sorry," Lydia said. "A half dozen what?"

"People, dude." Both Scott and Lydia had their claws out this time, practically before he was done speaking. "Whoa, hey, chill. It's not like I had much of a choice, right man? Full moon, drives you bonkers. You know about the full moon, right? You're not _that_ new?"

"No, we're not _that_ new," Scott replied. His entire body was tense. He could feel his Alpha form bubbling under the surface but didn't want to have to take it that far; he wasn't sure he could issue a command to this Beta and he felt somehow that if he shifted all the way to Alpha that Jason would attack. "But we don't kill humans. Frankly, you're going to be a problem for us if you do."

"Why's that?" Jason asked.

"Because there are hunters in this town," Lydia responded, her speech slurring around her fangs. "Hunters who know our names and keep very close tabs on us."

"Hunters who only have neglected to kill us because we've never harmed humans," Scott finished. "They'll kill you if they find you here. I'll tell you what – you turn around, get out of town now, and even if they ask later, neither of us saw you. We didn't even get a good look at your face."

"Dude, we have enhanced senses. You can probably count my pores from over there."

"I'm trying to forget, then," Scott said, scathingly. "Look, point is, you can't be here. You need to leave."

"Aw, man – do you know how hard it is to find a pack that doesn't make you fight a current member to the death to get in or something?"

_This is completely surreal. I'm just going to pretend that this guy doesn't actually know anything about werewolves._. "I don't care. I'm an Alpha and I'm _ordering you to go_."

Scott had never used the ability to influence Betas on Lydia. Truth be told, like the ability to make Beta's shift, he wasn't completely sure how to activate the power. Now, though, he felt a strange, echo-like weight attached to the words, and he could feel something in Jason acknowledge the command. "Well, I guess I have to go, then," Jason said, matter-of-factly. "I'd say it was nice meeting you all, but it feels like it was actually pretty pointless."

Scott watched him turn and walk back into the trees. As soon as he was sure Jason was out of earshot – which took some time – he turned to Lydia. She's shifted back to her regular form, but she looked worried. "I wonder how often that's going to happen," Scott wondered out loud.

"We should have asked him how he knew to find us here," Lydia said. "You know, not just here like in the woods, but here like in Beacon Falls. Want to catch up to him and ask?"

"No," Scott said, glancing around. "The sooner he's out of town the better. I really doubt that we'd run into the Argents out here, but I don't want to tempt fate."

A gunshot rang out through the woods. Lydia and Scott both paled. "You were saying?"

***/\***

Allison ducked just a little too slow and the wooden bo staff her aunt was swinging at her connected with the side of her face. The staff was hollow, which served two purposes – it made the bo staff lighter so that a solid hit wouldn't knock her out, but it also made it faster so that getting hit would sting more. Allison staggered a step back as the pain from the slap resonated through her face.

"Ouch!" she said, holding a hand up to rub at what she was sure was a growing red spot on her cheek.

Her aunt leered at her. "I won't pull my punches," she said. She nodded at Chris Argent, who was leaning against a tree not far away, watching. "That's why Papa Bear wanted me to be the one to put you through these exercises."

Allison leered right back. "Thanks," she said.

Kate's face turned serious, or as serious as it ever did. "You should be thanking me," she said. "If you don't learn right, you wind up dead. And you don't learn right without a few scratches and bruises."

Before Allison could reply Kate had whirled, using the bo to sweep Allison's feet out from under her. Allison pitched backward and landed heavily on the forest floor, hearing several twigs and leaves crunch under her on impact. _Probably something else snapped, too_, she thought. She turned to her father. "What's the point of this, again?"

Chris didn't respond, simply standing and watching, his expression unchanged despite Allison's direct address. _Great, now he's going to play mute_, she thought. She climbed to her feet to find her aunt circling her like a hungry predator. She wasn't armed at all herself. _Okay. So, clearly this is some kind of test._

Kate thrust one end of the staff at Allison, aiming to drive it into her gut. Allison sidestepped the blow, slapping the bo wide with a wrist strike, and brought her forearm up to blow the resulting parry from the other end of the staff from Kate. The blow shook the bones in her arm and smarted like crazy, but she pushed it down and made sure it didn't show.

Kate stepped back, arching an eyebrow at Chris. Chris pushed off the tree he'd been leaning on and walked over, still not saying anything. Expecting a congratulations, or a critique, from her father, Allison was completely caught off guard when he grabbed her bodily by the shoulders, spun her off her feet and onto her knees, and wrapped an arm around her neck, practically before she could figure out what was happening.

He didn't apply enough pressure to choke her, but it definitely made breathing hard. "We hunt shapeshifters," Chris said, still holding Allison by the throat. "While werewolves can't make themselves look like a loved one, werewolves are far from everything that's out there. The point to this lesson is to teach you to react instantly to a threat, no matter where it comes from. From here on out, both your aunt and I will attack you at random times, when you least it expect it."

"Great," Allison said, sputtering. "Let me up?" she asked. Chris relaxed his grip and took a step back, but when Allison pitched forward onto all fours he stepped back up, concerned, bending over to make sure he hadn't actually caused any damage. Allison caught him off guard this time, shifting her weight onto her right leg, extending her left leg and sweeping a kick into Chris' knees, making them buckle and causing him to tumble over.

Kate laughed as Chris started to fall, but Allison had planned to get her aunt too. Kate was far out of reach, but as she completed the sweeping motion Allison reached down, picked up a small rock, and letting her momentum add strength she hurled it at her aunt. Despite Allison being unquestionably better with a bow and arrow, she could still throw pretty well, and the rock would have connected with Kate's face squarely between the eyes if her aunt hadn't whirled the bo staff in a short arc to knock the rock harmlessly away. Allison's face registered both surprise and disappointment; her aunt grinned. "My guard is always up," she bragged. She looked down at her fallen brother. "Looks like you could still use some training, though, big brother."

Chris was looking with respect at Allison. "I suppose so," he said. Allison tried to smile at the affectionate, fatherly smile he was giving her – while her father had never been abusive or mean, he'd always been a little distant, and learning to be a hunter was letting her get closer to him than she'd ever really thought she would – but she'd been having trouble getting smiles to come out right since the night Scott had showed up in her bedroom and Kate had driven him out with a torrent of bullets.

Before any of them could say anything further, Chris' beeper went off. _He has a beeper?_ He yanked it quickly from his belt, read the readout, and looked up at Kate. "Trap in grid nineteen."

Kate yawned . "It's probably another stray cat," she said.

"What's going on?" Allison asked.

"We've set traps around the forest," Chris replied. "It's standard with werewolves around. If something triggers one of the traps, my beeper goes off. Come on, that trap is less than a mile." Allison and Chris pulled themselves up off the ground and the three began to hurry through the trees, Chris leading the way. Both Chris and Kate pulled out guns Allison hadn't realized they'd brought. _Are they going to expect me to start carrying around a gun, too?_

As they got closer it became quickly apparent that the trap hadn't caught a stray cat. Whatever was stuck in it was thrashing and growling in at a much deeper pitch than a house cat could manage. _What if it's Scott?_ Allison thought, her stomach twisting. She'd managed to convince her father not to run off and kill Scott immediately after the incident several nights' previous, mostly by saying that Scott had just come to talk and Kate was the one who'd initiated the violence. When she'd explained it that way Kate had rolled her eyes and Chris had grimaced in acknowledgment that yes, it made sense that it happened that way, but it'd still taken a solid hour of begging before he'd relented and told her that if Scott crossed the line one more time _then_ he'd have to go.

And she'd offered to pay to get her window fixed, absurd as it was to think that might convince her father not to kill Scott. She wasn't sure how she'd dredge up the money but she wasn't sure her father would hold her to it since he hadn't even responded to that attempt anyway.

As they got closer to the snared werewolf Allison could see immediately that it was neither Scott nor Lydia. _Phew_, she thought. Then she checked herself. The creature hanging upside down from the tree was clearly a werewolf, but it wasn't either of the two werewolves they knew were in town. _More of them? _she thought. _Great. Just what we need_.

Whoever he was he was still thrashing, having shifted completely to Beta form. The trap not only caught his leg and hung him upside down; it also bound his arms to his sides. Allison made a mental note to ask her father later how the trap worked. "Calm down," Chris said to the werewolf. The wolf didn't reply, continuing to try to break his bonds in futility. "I said calm down!" Chris bellowed, pointing his gun straight up in the air and firing two shots.

The thrashing Beta finally froze, the gunshots pacifying it. It melted back into human form and didn't say anything as Chris moved forward and cut him down. Once it was down and rubbing its wrists, and Chris had rejoined Allison and Kate, the Beta smirked at him. "Thanks, man," he said, his voice a little slow. _Great, a retarded werewolf_, Allison thought. _Just what we needed_. "All I can figure on this is that the bears are getting too slippery for the classic traps. Say, wait a minute," he said, sniffing at the air. "You're carrying silver bullets?" The werewolf looked down to see Chris and Kate both pointing their guns at him. "Oh, shit, you're the hunters, aren't you?"

"Smart one," Kate said. "He'll make an excellent throw rug."

"Wait!"

This time it was Scott who came bounding into view, Lydia close behind. Allison's stomach knotted again, but Scott was staring fixedly at Chris' gun and wasn't looking at her. "Wait," he said. "There's no need for violence. He's leaving. Right, Jason?"

Jason nodded vigorously.

Chris gave Scott a sardonic grin. "Hello, Scott," he said. "I'm surprised you'd just come charging into view after the remodeling job you gave my daughter's bedroom window."

The casual greeting clearly threw Scott. "Uh," he said. "Yeah, I, uh, guess I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to."

"Seems the last time we'd seen each other you'd said you weren't going to see Allison again. That it was better for her health that way."

Scott grimaced. "I was confused," he said.

"When? When you said you wouldn't see her again, or when you decided to show up at our house anyway?"

"Uh," Scott said, actual pain registering in his eyes at the casual verbal assault.

"Relax, Scott," Chris said, smiling in a way that Allison was sure wouldn't make Scott relax at all. "Allison managed to talk me down afterward. You didn't come to hurt her, apparently. Rest assured that if you had you' already be dead, but for now our little peace treaty remains. This one, though," Chris said, scratching his chin. "Leaving, huh?" he asked. "Why'd he come?"

Scott growled low, but it didn't come across a a threat, just stress. His gaze wandered back to Chris' gun. "What does it matter? He's going."

Chris smiled an angry smile at Scott. "It matters because he's here to join your pack," he said. "And you said no, didn't you? So I'm left having to ask, why would the great protector Scott McHall say no to a Beta who clearly needs help?"

"I'm not anyone's 'great protector,'" Scott replied, looking Chris in the eye. "I'm looking out for Lydia because we're all each other have."

"And this one, who does he have?" Chris asked, waving the gun at Jason, who looked completely terrified. "Doesn't seem to be drowning in friends at the moment. Be honest, Scott. He's killed and you could tell. If it makes this any easier on you, I can tell, too."

Scott frowned. "How can _you_ tell? You're not one of us."

Chris grinned triumphantly. "I couldn't, actually," he admitted. "But you just confirmed it for me."

"Thanks, man," Jason muttered.

Chris cocked his gun. Scott stepped between Chris and Jason and settled back on the balls of his feet. Chris and Kate both stiffened immediately. _What was that?_ Allison thought. "Can we just talk about this?" Scott asked, his eyes wider. "He can stay with us. We'll keep an eye on him. He won't ever touch another human again. Right, Jason?"

Jason, staring at Scott, nodded, then nodded even more at Chris. Chris shook his head. "That's not how this works and you know it. Once he's harmed a human he can't come back from that. He has to die." Chris went to step around Scott but he shifted to continue blocking Jason. Out of the corner of her eye, Allison saw Kate begin slowly, almost nonchalantly sidestepping. Scott's gaze seemed about to follow Kate but Chris interrupted that by snarling at him. "Get out of the way, Scott!"

"Please," Scott begged. Tears were forming in his eyes. Allison wanted to run and throw her arms around him but her feet were rooted to the spot. _Anyway I doubt that'd really help_. "You can take me instead."

Allison, Kate, and Chris all stopped moving, their mouths hanging open. Even Jason and Lydia looked shocked. "That's not how it works, Scott," Chris repeated, keeping his eyes trained on Scott's. "You haven't hurt anyone. He has. He has to die." He went again to sidestep Scott but Scott moved again to block his path.

"No!" he said, now crying freely. "Listen, it's better for you to take me instead. If you kill me the Alpha status doesn't pass to anyone. Then all you have to worry about is a pair of Betas. Lydia can look after Jason. You can keep people with them twenty-four seven to make sure they're behaving. It works out better for you that way." Chris just shook his head. Scott started shaking from how hard he was crying. "Come on! I'm dealing with you straight and serious, like you wanted. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"You still don't get it, Scott," Chris said, the gun in his hand not wavering. "Everything we've said to you – it's not about you dealing with us as equals, it was about you understanding the peril you face if you break our rules. The truth is that we're not equals. We're above you; you're animals. And we'll put you and Lydia down just like this if we wind up having to."

He nodded, a barely perceptible motion, but Kate reacted instantly. She'd sidestepped far enough to be at an angle that gave her a clear shot at Jason; she'd kept her gun down while she'd been sidestepping to keep from attracting Scott's attention. At Chris' nod she swung the gun up quickly and fired a single shot. It hit Jason in the middle of the right side of his forehead. A small hole appeared – _so quick its almost like magic,_ Allison thought, transfixed in horror – and then the back of Jason's head blew out, showering shattered bone and brain matter into the forest behind them.

On the gunshot Scott's gaze had torn from Chris to Kate, but he didn't attack. He turned instead, to watch Jason fall backward, a far-off look in the already-dead Beta's eyes. As he fell Scott fell to his knees. He stayed like that for a moment, just staring, and then the crying returned, wracking his entire body with sobs. Chris closed the distance between them quickly and knelt by the sobbing young werewolf. "You need to start getting used to this," he hissed in Scott's ear.

Lydia was standing, panting heavily, clearly trying to keep from hyperventilating. Chris straightened up and he and Kate began walking away, back through the woods towards where they'd left their car. He glanced at Allison, who remained rooted to the spot. A moment of unspoken conversation passed between them. Chris clearly wanted Allison to come away with them, but Allison shook her head. _Not yet_, she said. _I can't just leave him like this._ Chris nodded, seeming to understand her meaning, but he and Kate both stopped walking, turning to wait a respectable distance away.

Slowly, making sure to appear as non-threatening as possible, Allison made her way over to Scott, who continued to sob. Gradually, she knelt by his side, reaching out a hand to press softly against his heaving back. He didn't shy away or move on the contact, which Allison took to be an encouraging sign. Hoping to sound soothing, she murmured his name. "Scott..."

Scott's reaction was instantaneous. He heaved sideways, throwing her off of him to the ground. His gaze followed her, her eyes widening, his eyes turning deep red. He roared mightily as he shifted instantly to his Alpha form, his clothes bursting off of himself. At the roar, Lydia scattered in fear into the woods. Chris and Kate both came up shooting at Scott, who took several bullets to the chest. _Alphas won't go down to just a couple regular silver bullets, though_, Allison thought. Scott roared again at Kate and Chris, who seemed completely nonplussed by it, and then he turned and loped into the woods, disappearing instantly.

Chris crossed to Allison and crouched down next to her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"No," Allison said, her eyes even wider than the last time Scott had bodily pushed her aside.

Chris grimaced. "Are you physically injured?" he asked.

"No," Allison replied. She found herself capable of matter-of-factly taking stock of her injuries. "I mean, a couple of bruises probably, but nothing serious."

Chris nodded. He turned to Kate. "Call the guys in," he said. "We need to get everyone in the field now. Tell them we have an enraged Alpha and a terrified Beta running the woods."

Kate nodded. "Already got a plan, bro," she said, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket.

Chris turned back to Allison. "Let's get you home," he said, offering her a hand up.

Allison looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time. "You shot him," Allison said.

"He was threatening you," Chris replied, seeming to consider whether his daughter's puppy-love attraction to the Alpha had actually addled her brain.

"Not Scott," she said. She jerked her head back toward the corpse behind them, unwilling or unable to make herself look at it. "Him. Jason. You told Kate to shoot him, didn't you?"

Chris lowered the hand that he was offering to Allison. "That's how it works, honey," he said, sighing. "Once they've hurt humans, it's over. I'm starting to think it's over for Scott, too. That's the second time in a week he's attacked you. I'm not standing for it anymore."

"You can't kill him!" Allison yelled.

"He's out of control, Allison!" Chris snapped back. "You heard him tonight. You saw him. He's coming unraveled and its only a matter of time before he does more than just push you into the dirt. Think of it this way – if Scott runs into a person, a normal, average person, right now, what do you suppose is going to happen?"

Allison bit her lip. "I don't know," she said.

"I think you do," Chris replied, hard, a note of condescension entering his voice. He softened, seeing the torn and confused and above all else _hurt_ expression on Allison's face. "I know it's hard, honey. But we have to do this. The Scott you cared about never wanted to hurt anyone, but he's lost the ability to keep himself from doing so. This has to happen."

Allison shook her head, unable to respond. A large part of her brain was agreeing with what her father was saying – looking at it detached, calculating, understanding that the Alpha who'd never harmed a human had become dangerously unbalanced. Another large part of her brain, though, was screaming, _Not Scott! Please note Scott!_ Through the cacophony she wasn't able to get words out.

Kate was able to get words out. "Knew you'd come around in the end," she said to her brother. "The guys are all heading out. They'll be in the woods in five minutes. We'll bring him down." She looked down at her half-emotionally-destroyed niece. "It'll be, you know, quick. I guess."

Allison shook her head with even more vigor, words spilling out before she could even figure out why she was speaking. "No," she said. "It won't be."

***/\***

Scott wasn't keeping track of time. When thinking of how long he'd been running, just flat out _running_, since the confrontation with the Argents, he could only come up with _a while_ as the length of time it'd been. For the first stretch he'd just barreled as fast he could – which was pretty fast – through the trees, completely uncaring about branches and rocks. The cuts and bruises all healed instantly anyway. After a while his vision, and mind, had cleared, but he'd kept running. If anything he'd increased his pace, aware then of every slight twinge as a branch whipped him in the face or a rock stuck in his hairy, clawed foot. _Maybe if I run fast enough I'll get away from it_.

As an Alpha, Scott was possessed of far greater-than-average strength and stamina, but even his had to run out eventually. Pushing himself as hard as he was that happened sooner than if he'd been pacing himself. He eventually collapsed, tripping over an exposed root – something an emotionally non-disturbed Alpha never would have done – and came to a crashing, sliding halt on the forest floor, curled again a tree trunk.

_I'll be watching Jason fall like that for the rest of my life,_ he thought, curling in on himself and feeling his Alpha form melt away. _Some giant rage monster I am. Derek would never have let the Argents kill him. Why didn't they fucking _listen?_ Why does there still have to be so much killing?_

He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly freezing cold. Looking down he realized that shifting into his Alpha form so suddenly had actually burst his clothes; he was now naked, having left behind their tattered remnants. And, he realized for the first time, it was now also raining. His skin was almost completely covered in beads of icy water. Scott pressed his back into the tree trunk he was hunched against and shivered.

_I should have let Jason join the group_, Scott thought. _I should have bluffed better. I should have done _something_ better because now he's dead, now Mom's dead, now Allison wants me dead, now Lydia - _

His head snapped up. _Lydia!_ She'd run when he'd shifted to Alpha and roared. Reflecting back on that roar of anger and pain, Scott realized it'd carried a note similar to the command he'd given Jason to leave Beacon Falls. Where that, though, had been a conscious, direct command, this had been more primal. He'd projected a single feeling into her mind: _fear_.

"Oh, God," he muttered. Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself up off the forest floor. "She's running around terrified. She can't _not_ be terrified." He clenched a fist. "Have to find her. Before this gets worse."

He shook himself once, violently, spraying the water that had collected on his body off it. Glancing around he selected the highest tree, ran toward it, leaped and dug his newly-sprouted claws in. He climbed in rapid succession and in only a second was at the very top. Digging one clawed hand in further, he left go with the other so he could swing around and gauge where he was.

_God damn_, he thought. Enhanced vision or not he couldn't adequately judge the distance he'd traveled, but guessing he'd have said that the center of town was twenty miles away. Instantly, he released his grip on the tree, dropping back down to the forest floor, shifting back to his Alpha form on the way, so that when he landed he was already running.

Scott began to lose track of time again as he ran back toward town. The wolf was a better runner than him and it had no need for considerations of time; its influence made him focus more on trees, rocks, and roots, and how each of those things could be turned from impediment into advantage in the race to get back to Beacon Falls. Scott's conscious brain fell into a kind of fugue state while he left his wolf side guide him back to town, only one word repeating consciously in his head. _Lydia_.

He was able to follow his own scent trail – which, he realized, was pretty potent – back to the area of the woods where the Argents had executed Jason. Unsurprisingly, nobody was there; they'd even dragged Jason's body off. Scott stopped, took a deep breath and blew it out, then closed his eyes and inhaled, tasting the air. He was instantly barraged by the scent profiles of everyone who'd been there recently. His own scent, again, was particularly strong, and said _Alpha_ to his brain – _must be how Jason found us in the first place_, he reasoned, _and Peter must have known how to shut it off, gotta look into that later_. He could detect the faintly musky scents that identified Chris and Kate Argent, the oddly sweet scent which – his face twitched – said _Allison_ to his mind, and, finally, the distinctly werewolf scent left behind by Lydia. It was different from how she usually smelled, he realized; she was letting off fear pheromones.

He took a moment to study the scent and get it firmly planted in his mind, and then took off, following its trail into the woods. As he ran, a question danced into his mind. _What the hell am I going to do when I find her?_ He wondered. _She's probably still going to be in terror mode. Ugh. I'm probably going to have to give her another command. And I told her I'd never do that to her. Whatever. Apologize once our lives aren't in danger._

Lydia's scent trail led Scott on an erratic, hectic pattern through the woods. All things considered he wouldn't have needed his nose to follow her; she'd left a crashing path of broken branches and overturned rocks that even a junior Boy Scout would have been able to follow. _Which means the Argents could follow her, too_. Scott increased his pace.

That proved futile, as it turned out. After another twenty feet, Lydia's scent was joined by the scent of three men, and all four scent trails thereafter merged and headed in one direction. His own fear increasing, Scott followed the new trail, only to break the treeline in time to see Lydia, slumped and unconscious in her Beta form, being shoved into an SUV. He growled and charged, but the SUV peeled out and sped off before he could get there. He made a lunge for the bumper and missed, just scraping the metal with his claws. The lunge carried him into the street, where a large sedan plowed directly into him, smashing both the front of the car and Scott's bones, sending him tumbling end over end as the SUV sped away. Shakily, he climbed to his feet, having maintained his Alpha form despite the pain. The car's hood had come up in the crash, obscuring the driver's vision, which is probably why he felt it was a good idea to get out of the car, yelling at Scott until he saw the giant brown werewolf hunched, its bones already healing. The man ran. Scott threw back his head and howled at the moon, and then his gaze returned to the road, his eyes burning red in the direction the SUV had driven off.


	5. Not Killers

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The working title of this chapter was "Not a Pillow Fight." I'm quite thankful that I managed to come up with something better than that. Sheesh, subconscious.

NOT KILLERS

Allison had allowed her father to direct her back to their car, not really feeling anything. She'd watched as a couple of the men her aunt had called in had loaded Jason's corpse into a body bag and had stashed it in the back. If she'd been paying much attention to her other senses she'd have realized that he'd already begun to reek, but she wasn't clear on anything in particular at that moment. The drive home had been largely a blur, but by the time they'd gotten there she'd recovered enough to carry her own bow into the house.

She'd sat down heavily at the kitchen table as her father had explained what had happened to her mother, before heading back out with the men who'd carried Jason off. Her mother had nodded severely a couple of times, retrieved a silver knife that had been hidden in the kitchen, and had sat down next to Allison, not saying anything, just waiting.

A half hour or so later – Allison wasn't paying attention much to the time, which felt simultaneously like it was passing too slowly and much too fast – Kate had burst through the door. "I jut recalled everyone," she said to Victoria. "We caught one."

Allison started. "Which?" she asked.

"Not your boyfriend," Kate said, shortly. "The Beta."

"Lydia," Allison muttered.

"Yeah, whatever," Kate responded.

Chris showed up a couple of minutes later, looking none too pleased. "Kate, what's going on?" he asked, almost before he was through the front door. "I just got your message to come back to the house. You're recalling everyone? Did you get them? Why the cryptic message?"

"We caught the Beta," she replied. "Roth, Lee, and David are bringing her back here now. I figure we kill two birds with one stone – we get her off the street and use her as bait to draw the Alpha here."

"Here to _my goddamn house?_"

"Did you have a better idea?" Kate asked. "We know the terrain here. No ambush points. Too crowded inside for him to be able to move without us being able to track those movements. We have him at a disadvantage here. Anywhere else, he has us at a disadvantage. I thought you didn't want to lose anyone to this animal?"

"Someday," Chris said, through gritted teeth, "you're going to learn subtlety."

"Doubt it," Kate said, shooting her brother a grin.

A few minutes later an SUV came to a screeching halt outside the house. _That's not good,_ Allison thought, still somewhat distant. _They must have been driving like that for a reason._ Sure enough, a second later three men came bursting in the front front door, hauling an unconscious Lydia between them. One of them stepped up to Chris while the other two carried Lydia, her feet dragging, into the living room. Allison, seeing the woozy, distant look on her friend's face, got up and followed them.

"What'd you do to her?" she asked.

"Tranquilizer," one of the men – she didn't know any of their names – said. "She was acting crazy. Not usual werewolf crazy, running around like she was scared or something." The two men dropped Lydia onto the couch.

She slumped down and one went to arrange her so she'd be upright again. Allison stepped in. "I'll handle her from here."

"No you won't," Chris said, from the doorway. "You need to get out of here now. Scott is on his way. They just barely got away from him on the highway. He'll be here any second. I want you and Lee to put a safe distance between you and this house. You don't go anywhere near an enraged Alpha. You're not ready for that yet."

"I'm not leaving - " Allison began to say, but was interrupted by the front door exploding. Chris and Allison both paled and ran for the doorway, but were both knocked down by the body of one of the men who'd dragged Lydia in, thrown aside, unconscious.

Chris and Allison pushed at the unconscious man's dead weight and hefted him off. As they did Allison verified to herself that he was still breathing. She and her father were back on their feet in under twenty seconds and rounded the doorway into the kitchen. The other man was already unconscious as well, his back against the refrigerator. Kate stood on the stairs, her gun drawn, unable to get a clear shot at Scott – because Scott was locked in a fight with Victoria, who was slashing the silver knife at him. Scott, his Alpha form huge and foreboding, actually caught her swipe on his claws and twisted, shattering the blade of the knife. On the sound of the knife shattering, Kate seemed to put aside the issue of potentially hitting Victoria and opened fire. The first two shots hit Scott squarely in the back and he roared, rearing up, pushing Victoria out of the way and turning to face Kate.

Chris drew his own gun and began firing, which caused Scott to duck and look around to head for cover, but there wasn't any. True to Kate's prediction he was at a disadvantage in close quarters, without dark, open space or trees to use to his advantage. After a moment's hesitation, which rewarded him with several new bullet holes, Scott seemed to come to a decision and launched himself _through_ the wall separating the kitchen and the living room, leaving behind a gaping hole, which sparked from where the wiring in the wall had been severed.

Allison knelt and gathered up her bow, fitting an arrow and wondering insanely where her life had gone and what exactly it was that had taken its place. Kate came down the stairs quickly, reloading her gun, smiling widely. "We've got him now," she said. "Only a few more shots and even an Alpha - "

Scott came around the corner, interrupting her mid-sentence and mid-reload. He drove a closed fist into the side of her face, a strike that, had his clawed hand remained open, would have brained Allison's aunt. As it was she was knocked out cold instantly, collapsing back against the stairs, her gun flying away down the hall. Chris turned on Scott and fired again, hitting him in the shoulder. Scott lunged for Chris and Allison let her first arrow fly. It stuck in Scott's midsection, burying itself half a foot into his flesh. He roared but maintained his lunge, swiping the gun out of Chris' hands. Her father backed up, weaponless, helpless, in the face of a hurt, pissed off Alpha. _No,_ Allison thought, reaching for another arrow, but she knew there was no way she would be fast enough.

Scott was going to kill her father.

The Alpha raised a clawed hand – more a paw, really – extending the claws to their full, terrifying length. Chris, for his part, didn't cringe, just stood staring into Scott's red eyes, waiting for the blow that would end his life. Scott's muscles tensed.

And he did nothing.

Allison managed to get the arrow onto her bow and draw it back, but by then she realized that Scott was lowering his clawed hand. He turned to look at her and, despite the giant Alpha form, his eyes were his own, full of hurt and determination. "We are not killers," he said, the words slurred and distorted by the Alpha's mouth. But they were Scott's words. Allison gulped, realizing that she was still pointing a deadly weapon at Scott, and began to lower it.

Later, she'd reflect that maybe the night would have gone better if she'd actually finished lowering the bow.

At that moment, just as she was starting to put down her weapon, she heard a menacing growl to her side. She didn't think, she just reacted, turning to her side and letting loose the arrow. Too late she realized that the growl had come from Lydia, who'd emerged into the doorway to find her pointing the weapon at Scott and had reacted the way a normal werewolf would. And now, as these thoughts flashed through Allison's brain, the silver-shafted arrow – more than enough to kill a Beta – was flying straight for her heart.

Luckily, Scott still had reflexes made of iron. He leaped into the path of the arrow, probably intending to take the shaft mid-torso as he had the last arrow Allison had shot him with, but he didn't quite make it that far. Instead – Allison watching like it was in slow motion, dropping her bow as the force of what she was seeing hit her – the shaft entered the side of Scott's throat, lodging there as he crashed into the wall to the side of the hole in it Lydia was standing in.

Lydia looked down as Scott crumbled in a heap on the floor, dark blood pouring from his throat around the arrow. Allison was looking, too, covering her mouth in horror at the sight of Scott laying there, gasping and gurgling as blood entered his lungs. Lydia looked up at Allison, who slowly met her friends' gaze. Lydia was in her Beta form, extra hair gracing her face, her claws extended, her eyes glowing an unnatural blue. _Like Derek's_, Allison thought, her mind completely detached from the horror she was feeling. _I wonder why_.

Lydia howled at her, nothing but anger behind her eyes. She took a step forward, crouching down, and Allison realized that Lydia had lost her grip on the monster, had let it take over. And she, Allison, had just clearly shot at her. Allison glanced down at the bow but knew she wouldn't be able to pick it up, verify that it was in working order after being manhandled, knock an arrow and fire in the time it would take Lydia to cross the scant ten to fifteen feet that separated them. Her father had clearly had a similar notion, because he was scrambling for the gun Scott had knocked away, but Allison could see clearly on his face that he knew he wouldn't be fast enough to take Lydia down, either.

Lydia took another step forward, began to step over Scott's body – and Scott reached up and slammed her into the wall. Still sputtering and gurgling and clearly having difficulty breathing, he stood, facing Lydia. Lydia, completely given over to the wolf, growled at him and bared her claws at him.

***/\***

Scott faced Lydia in the kitchen-turned-warzone of the Argent house. Reaching up, he yanked the silver arrow out of his throat. _Goddamn that hurts,_ he thought. _Burns more than anything else. I hate silver_. He tried to speak, to issue a command to Lydia to stand down – _apologize later_, he repeated to himself – but found that he couldn't make a sound. When he tried to speak the sputtering noise he was making got worse, but nothing else could feel his throat reconstructing itself, but apparently not fast enough. _Great_.

Lydia swiped at him, her claws biting into the flesh of his torso. Under other circumstances the cuts would also have begun healing instantly, but they were sluggish to begin this time. _Must be the silver bullets_, Scott reasoned, backing enough to be out of Lydia's reach. _God_damn_ I hate silver. I'm gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way. And I'm going to have to do it without cutting her because she won't heal cuts from an Alpha. _

Lydia lunged for him, her claws outstretched. Scott tried to swing a punch into her mid-lunge, but his injuries were slowing him down. He didn't get his clawed fist around fast enough to intercept Lydia's lunge and she plowed into him, her claws digging into his chest on both sides, and he fell backward. Scott used the momentum from the fall to keep himself in motion and drove upward with his legs, the result being that as his shoulder blades – _or whatever the Alpha equivalent is, I don't know if I technically have shoulder blades like this_ – hit the floor of the kitchen he pushed Lydia's body to make her continue flying toward the other wall. Her claws released their hold on his torn skin and she flew into the wall, hitting it upside down and falling to the floor, headfirst. Slowly, Scott pushed himself to his feet. He tested his voice again. The sounds that came out sounded a little more like speech and didn't hurt as much, but he clearly wasn't able to issue a command yet.

Lydia was dazed by the impact against the wall, but not by enough to shift her back. In a second she was up off the floor, snarling, and she lunged again. Scott tried to pull the same trick, but this time she'd lunged more at his waist, shoulder tackling him and driving him across the room to slam his back into the wall. The impact shook the wall, knocking several hanging pictures down. Lydia backed up a step and then lunged forward again at the dazed Alpha, driving her claws into his chest, rending the skin and muscle she'd just torn at a moment before, and Scott realized those wounds hadn't managed to heal at all. _Nearly at my limit_, he thought.

Lydia, positively crazed, withdrew her claws, ready to swipe at Scott's throat, ready to kill him. He coughed, still choking on his own blood, realized his voice was back but simultaneously that he didn't have the necessary strength to say something with the Alpha's authority behind it, and anyway it almost felt like the Alpha side was preparing to leave him, anticipating his death at Lydia's hands, which would transfer Alpha status to her. He was shifting back to human. Weakly, Scott managed to choke out, "Please, Lydia – we're not killers. Please."

Lydia's clawed hand was raised, ready to deliver the killing stroke. Both Allison and Chris were staring, transfixed, waiting to see what would happen next, although to be on the safe side, Chris had retrieved his gun. Scott, still not sure if Lydia was about to kill him, looked sideways at Allison. He wasn't sure if his eyes were glowing red or not but some part of him – and he wasn't sure if it was to hurt her or just because he wanted it – wanted the last thing he saw to be her, with his own eyes.

Then Lydia dropped her clawed hand, shifting back to human herself. "Scott?" she asked, as her fangs retracted.

Scott choked and coughed again, this time from smiling. "Yeah," he said. "Had me worried for a second there."

Lydia looked on the verge of tears. "Oh, God," she said, looking over him – standing there naked he was clearly covered in cuts, gashes, and bullet holes, not to mention the gash the arrow had left in his neck, none of which were healing quickly. "Oh, God, I did this to you."

"Not all of it," Scott muttered. He saw Allison cringe out of the periphery of his vision. In the meantime, Chris had crossed to stand in front of the Alpha. Lydia eyed his gun, clearly afraid, but Scott wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to the side so he could face Chris.

"I ordered you killed tonight," he said.

Scott eyed the gun, too. "You'll never get a better chance."

Chris nodded. "I know," he said. He thumbed the hammer, uncocking the gun, and replaced it in has waistband. "But I've never killed a naked teenage boy in my own kitchen, so I don't figure I'll start now."

Scott closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "If I felt better I'd be making a joke about you killing naked teenage boys elsewhere," he said. "It'd be real clever too. Why?"

Chris shrugged. "Like you said," he said. "You're not killers. I've never seen an Alpha step down from killing someone like that. We'll call it peace again, for now. But, this isn't going to work like this, Scott," he continued. "We're too on edge to coexist. We can't let you leave, and we can't leave you alone, because we need to verify that you're not hurting people. But apparently we can't live with you, either."

"How've you lived with werewolves who weren't hurting people in the past?" Scott asked.

Chris' expression was grave. "We haven't," he said. "The Hales were the first we encountered who weren't hunting humans."

"And Kate murdered them anyway," Scott finished. "Great. Look, maybe we just take this one step at a time. Learn to live with each other. A nice way to start would be promising that you won't execute anymore of us on sight like you did with Jason."

Chris shook his head. "The code is very clear on that, Scott," he said. "We can't suffer a werewolf who has harmed a human to live."

"Then rewrite your code. I won't let you kill any more."

Chris sighed. "Somehow you're still not getting it," he said. "You don't _let_ us do anything. Earlier tonight, you didn't _let_ us kill Jason. We killed Jason and there was nothing you could have done to stop it. And yes, you could have killed us, potentially, but then you'd be dead by now, too, and so would Jason. If a werewolf kills, it dies. That doesn't change."

"How is this supposed to work, in your mind?" Scott asked. He straightened. He was starting to feel stronger. His healing was finally kicking in, purging the silver out of his system. "Am I supposed to just roll over, let you treat us like animals?"

"That's the way it is."

"No," Scott said. "Why do you think your sister thought it'd be okay to kill the Hales? If we're just dogs, it's fine to put us down, any time."

"There are laws against cruelty to animals, you know."

"Yeah, and other laws against killing thinking, feeling _people_," Scott said. He flexed his arms. Some of his old strength was back in them, but, injuries aside, he was exhausted. There was no way he was strong enough for another confrontation. "That's your problem. You're too busy looking at the animals we _can be_ to see the people that we _are_."

"You have that backwards, Scott," Chris said, his tone still even. "You _are_ the animal. You _can be_ people. I believe the last part, which is what sets me apart from my sister. And it's the only thing keeping you alive."

"Maybe," Scott said. "About it keeping us alive. But think about this – the two _animals_ you saw tonight chose not to kill. Would animals – pure, vicious animals, who only _can be_ people – would they have done that?"

"I'll admit, you're a bit of an anomaly," Chris said. "Most Alphas can't resist a kill when it's so close. In fact, none I've ever met have been able to."

"And did you bother to stop and check every time you encountered one?" Scott asked.

"No," Chris admitted.

"And you figure there's never a good reason for a werewolf to kill a person?" Scott asked.

Chris considered for a moment. "My thoughts don't matter," he said, finally. "We follow a code. I'll follow that code now. You still haven't harmed a human, outside of a couple of bruised jaws. I'll make an allowance on those, on account of your ability to stop your blood lust at will – I'd like to study that in further depth."

"I guess that's another thing that sets us apart," Scott said. "I stopped from killing you in hot blood. You wouldn't have."

"Didn't I just?" Chris asked.

"Not exactly, but close, I suppose," Scott allowed. "Maybe you're growing as a person."

Scott pushed off the wall, intending to walk out of the Argent house, but as soon as he wasn't leaning against the wall his head began spinning. He stumbled and Lydia caught him. She hooked one of his arms over her shoulders and, supporting his weight, the two of them began to walk out. As they passed Allison she reached out, clearly still in shock. "Scott, Lydia, I - "

"Don't," Lydia interrupted, surprising both Scott and Allison. "Just don't, Allison. Nothing you could say would make things better right now." Allison shrank back, her eyes big and round, but no tears this time.

As Scott and Lydia reached the door and limped through it, Chris' voice followed them. "Just try not to trash my house a third time," he said. "I may actually have to kill you for that alone next time."

As they walked across the lawn, Lydia glanced at Scott's face. "What was that last bit about?" she asked.

"Uh," Scott said. "I may have shown up in Allison's bedroom a few nights ago. And I may have left by jumping through her window. While it was closed. And while Kate shot at me."

Lydia shook her head. "Good job," she said. "How have they not killed you yet?"

"I'm too lovable," Scott said, deadpan, and Lydia laughed. _I guess exhaustion makes me funny_, Scott thought. _Had to be something capable of accomplishing that left_. A sudden breeze kicked up and Scott shivered. He looked down at himself and blushed. "Uh, Lydia?" he said. "You can't carry me all the way to the Stilinski's like this. I'm kinda naked."

"If it wasn't heart-stoppingly terrifying, it'd have been kind of funny to watch you talking to Mr. Argent like that," Lydia admitted.

"Would you mind calling Stiles? He can come pick us up. And he can bring pants. I could use pants." Lydia pulled her phone from her pocket, dialed Stiles, told him to come pick them up at the end of the Argents' street and to bring pants for Scott, and hung up. Scott sent her what he hoped was a quirky grin. "Sometimes I think you enjoy tormenting him like that. Maybe you are a monster after all."

Lydia had begun to grin at the statement, but at the second sentence the grin was washed away. "Scott, about back there," she said, depositing Scott behind a bush at the end of the Argents' street.

Scott held up a hand to stop her. "Don't even apologize," he said. "All of us lose it from time to time. This is what I've been saying about us helping each other. I keep you from getting in trouble, you keep me from getting in trouble. That's how it works."

She grimaced. It clearly took a lot of effort for her to get out the next words. "I haven't been doing a very good job at keeping you out of trouble," she said.

Scott scratched his head, a little sheepish. "I kind of invite it," he said. "Besides, you're still new at this. You'll get there. The first couple of times something makes you lose it – like tonight – you don't know what to expect and it overwhelms you. That's what being a werewolf – the kind the Argents are afraid of, anyway – is about, as near as I can figure – being overwhelmed and losing control."

"I just feel like if I don't get control quick I'm no use, and someone will die as a result," Lydia said, all in a rush. "God, I so wasn't ready for all of this."

"Neither of us was," Scott said. "But we're alive, and we can learn from our mistakes and do better. And we can do it together."

Lydia smiled. "Yeah," she said. "We can." The sound of screeching tires alerted them to Stiles' arrival. She turned an embarrassed, mischievous grin on Scott. "And, yeah, okay, I do like tormenting him a little. I wonder sometimes how much he can take."

As Stiles climbed out of the car, asking several questions at the same time and getting the words jumbled together, Scott smiled at Lydia's unexpected revelation. _Maybe there's something there between them after all,_ Scott thought. _I thought Stiles was deluding himself all these years. Maybe all it took was being turned into a cursed creature of the night to open her eyes to the possibilities. Guess we should all be so lucky._

***/\***

Allison had been there when Kate had come to, disappointed that the werewolves had "gotten away" again. When Chris had explained that he'd let them go, and the moratorium on killing Scott and Lydia was back in effect, she's been absolutely pissed. She and Chris had gotten into a shouting match while Victoria quietly began cleaning up the pile of debris that had once been their kitchen; between bullet holes, the giant hole in the wall where Scott had actually dove through it, the shattered front door and impact craters where the wolves had thrown each other around, it was going to be a lengthy remodeling process and her mother, always the practical one, had gone straight to work.

This left Allison without anything to do except fiddle with her bow, picking the string and watching it vibrate. After a few minutes of listening to her father and her aunt arguing, she got up, calmly so as to not draw attention, and exited the house, dropping the bow on the front lawn as she went. She got into her car, keyed the engine, and pulled out of the driveway.

_They're going to listen_, she said to herself as she drove. _This time they're going to listen. He's going to listen. I'm going to make him listen._

In short order she'd pulled up in front of the Stilinski house. The sheriff's car wasn't there, but Stiles' Jeep was, and she could see movement inside the kitchen. Allison got out of her car, but then faltered. _Don't suppose I can just use the front door anymore_, she thought, with a pang. _Anyway, I can only get through to them if I get through to Scott first._ Instead of walking up to the front door, Allison began to circle the house, looking for Stiles' room, hoping that she'd find Scott alone.

She was in luck. Scott was alone in Stiles' room, laying on the bed with his eyes shut, breathing slowly. He wore a pair of jeans and t-shirt, but even from a distance Allison could tell that he was exhausted and still in pain. She cringed, wondering how much of that pain came from the two arrows she'd put in him that night. For a second, she hesitated. _This is stupid_, she thought to herself. But then she steeled her nerves. _No. I am going to convince him, right now._

The window was open. Allison pulled herself through and dropped to the floor practically without making a sound. Scott hadn't opened his eyes and briefly Allison wondered if his injuries had dulled his senses, but then he opened his mouth. "You can't possibly think that coming here right now was a good idea."

Allison shrugged, pretty sure that even with his eyes closed Scott would be able to detect the motion. "Probably not," she admitted. "But I needed to talk to you."

Scott opened his eyes, slowly and painfully sat up. "And Lydia's warning back at your house didn't clue you in as to how well that would go right now?"

Allison took a deep breath. "Please just listen to me," she said. "This whole thing between us got like this when I wouldn't listen to you."

Scott laughed, the harsh, barking laugh again. "Oh, I remember," he said. "Want to hear something funny? That's the only thing I seem to dream about. Or have nightmares, I suppose, is the more technical term. That's it – you telling me that you didn't believe me. Not watching Kate kill Derek. Not getting bitten in the first place. Not finding my mother dead, even. I don't know, maybe watching your family execute Jason in cold blood will be enough to dethrone you as queen of my subconscious, but – well, yeah, _you could say I remember_."

Allison swallowed, completely unsure of how to take this new development. _Is that a good thing or a really, really bad thing?_ she thought. _God, I can never tell with him anymore._ "Please, then," she said, finding her train of thought. "Listen to me now." Scott considered for a second and then indicated for her to go on. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've made some mistakes and I just need you to know that I'm _sorry_, Scott."

Scott laughed again, louder, which was then accompanied by a choking cough. "That's it? That's what you're here for?" he said. "More apologies? First my mother's funeral, and then the day your family executes a werewolf right in front of me. Somebody dies, Allison apologizes."

Allison felt like stamping her foot in frustration, but was afraid the gesture would across as childish. "God, what do I have to do to convince you?" she asked, tears starting up in her eyes again.

"There's nothing you can do," Scott said, bluntly. "Lines have been drawn. Sides have been taken. I think we both know what side you've chosen."

"Why is that?" Allison asked, trying to sound angry.

"Put it this way," Scott replied. "Next time you point an arrow at someone, you figure it'll be your father? Your aunt?" Allison blanched. "See? You can't even picture it. Don't worry, I get it. If I had any family left alive I'd probably want to be loyal to them, too."

"That's not fair," Allison started to say.

"It's not about fair!" Scott yelled, suddenly angry. "It's not about fair or sorry or _words_. It's about choices. Every choice you've made since this whole thing started has made things worse." Scott laughed again, the harshest yet. "You know, maybe you were right after all. Maybe I wasn't keeping the truth from you to protect you for all those weeks and months. Maybe I just knew you couldn't handle it. Judging by all the bad choices and weepy indecision, I'd have been right."

Something snapped inside of Allison. _That's it,_ she thought. "That's it," she repeated out loud. "I've been trying to talk to you, one-on-one, down to Earth, whatever you want to call it – _sincerely_, since this whole thing started, and all you've done is try to hurt me in response. I'm done with it."

Scott looked honestly bewildered. "Is _that_ why you came here tonight? For some kind of absolution in sarcasm?"

"Maybe I just needed you to prove that you really don't care about me anymore," Allison responded, her eyes hard.

For a second, Scott's eyes were large and round and shone strangely – not the menacing glow of a werewolf's eyes, but just a strange shiny quality, like they were reflecting more of the dim light in the room than they should have been. Before he could say anything, a voice from the door interrupted them. "I really think you should go now, then."

Lydia and Stiles stood there. Lydia's eyes were bright blue – _definitely the eyes of a werewolf_ – but no extra hair or claws had sprouted. Yet. Stiles opened his mouth and spoke, too. "You're not welcome in this house, Allison. Get out." She nodded brusquely. The tough exterior she'd been going for for the last week finally felt natural, like she didn't need to prop it up. She stepped toward Stiles' bedroom door, but he and Lydia closed ranks to block her path. "No," he said. "You can go out the way you came in." He nodded at the window.

Allison sneered angrily at them, but didn't say anything, turned on a heel, and, ignoring Scott as completely as possible, climbed through the window. She circled the house and got into her car. Once she was safely in the car she felt a couple of tears begin to fall, but angrily she brushed them aside. _No more tears_, she thought. _No more anything. Anything but being strong._

***/\***

Lydia watched Allison go. Scott was watching too, a mixed expression on his face. He turned back to Lydia and Stiles. Lydia's eyes had already started to dim back to their normal color. "Why'd you make her leave through the window?" Scott asked Stiles.

Stiles shrugged, sheepishly. "Seemed like the meanest thing I could get away with," he said. "Too petty?"

Scott rolled his eyes. Lydia strained her ears so she could hear when Allison started the engine and began to drive away. _Super-hearing_, she thought. _This werewolf thing really isn't all bad._ "What'd she come here for?" she asked. "We only caught parts of the conversation. I told Stiles it's rude to eavesdrop."

"And I told her she's an eavesdropping machine now," Stiles threw in. _He sounds so happy about that_, she thought. _Ugh, dweeb puppy-love. Heaven help me if I start finding it adorable._

"She came to apologize," Scott said. "Or maybe to get me to make her hate me. I don't know."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lydia asked.

Scott thought for a minute, but he didn't seem to be coming up with any answers. "No," he said, finally. "I want ice cream."

Lydia and Stiles both glanced at each other, confused. "Ice cream?" Stiles asked, confirming what his friend had just said.

"Yes, ice cream," Scott replied. He glanced up at them and saw their confused looks, probably deduced that they were thinking he was crazy. _And he is_. "Look, guys, this has been a crazy, awful day. It's been a crazy awful week that's been part of several crazy, awful months. I just want to do something normal. Since going to the movies takes energy, and I doubt I'd make it much past the front door right now, I'm thinking ice cream."

Lydia and Stiles glanced at each other again. Stiles was grinning. _Oh, hell,_ Lydia thought, smiling herself. _He's infectious. My life is completely ruined._ "Sounds good," Stiles said.

"Would you guys mind getting it? I think I need a minute, considering," Scott said, nodding at the open window.

"Sure thing, buddy," Stiles said, and he and Lydia left Scott sitting on Stiles' bed.

In the kitchen, Stiles opened the freezer and began taking cartons out. "Think he'll be okay?" he asked.

Lydia looked at him sharply. "You know he can hear you, right?" she asked.

Stiles threw her a cocky grin. "I know Scott," he said. "That look on his face in there? His attention is halfway across town and has brown hair, a lousy attitude and a fondness for bows and arrows."

Lydia shook her head. "I guess I don't know," she said. "You know him better."

"Yeah," Stiles said. "But the only other time he's been near this bad was when his dad walked out. And then he wasn't a werewolf. I just wanted your input."

Lydia shrugged. "I really don't know," she said. "He's so back and forth, especially where Allison is concerned. Maybe her showing up like that will help him move on, you know? Really get over her."

Stiles shrugged back. "Dunno," he said, examining the cartons of ice cream. "Hey, you want to go in there and see what kind of ice cream he wants? I don't know what he likes."

Lydia shot Stiles an annoyed look. "You're his best friend and you don't know what his favorite kind of ice cream is?"

Stiles sneered playfully at her. "'Meh, I'm Lydia, I set all the rules for what makes a good friend and what doesn't.'"

"That is the worst impression of me anyone has ever done."

Stiles rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "Come on, we'll bring it all down."

They gathered up the cartons and carried them back down the hall to Stiles' room. Stiles nudged the door open and was about to announce their return in some ridiculous manner, but the words died on his lips. Scott had slid off the end of the bed and was sitting in a heap at the foot of it, his head buried in his hands, crying. Stiles reversed course through the doors, but Lydia got a full glimpse of Scott before he pulled the door shut again.

"God_damn_ what happened to your super werewolf hearing?" Stiles hissed.

"I wasn't kidding when I said I don't eavesdrop!"

"Bullshit you don't! Eavesdropping is something every pretend-vapid high school drama queen does _spectacularly!_ This is not the time for shattering stereotypes, especially useful ones!"

"Grow the fuck up!" Lydia hissed back. The two of them stood, breathing, for a moment before turning back to the door. Lydia shook her head, felt like kicking the door. "So much for the 'maybe he's over her now' train of thought. Do you think we just leave him?"

Stiles shook his head. "No," he said. "Yeah, he'll eventually cry this out, too, but then he'll go back to being the marble statue that's been walking around lately instead of Scott. I think we should go in there and, you know, be his friends."

"I'm not good at that!" Lydia hissed, as Scott reached for the door again.

"You'll learn!" Stiles hissed back, he pushed the door open and walked in. "Uh, Scott?" he asked, awkward. Scott's head jerked around and he instantly started trying to wipe his eyes, to conceal that he'd been crying. _And just what do we say _now_, Stiles?_ Lydia thought, sarcastically. Stiles answered Lydia's unspoken request as simply as possible. "We brought the ice cream. If you still want some."

Scott looked up at him for a second, uncomprehending. Then he smiled, slowly, and it wasn't the horrible, twisted smile that new-Scott had affected recently; it was an actual smile, a thank-you, and Lydia felt an instant surge of warmth, both for the extremely troubled Alpha who'd saved her from going off the deep end and for the goofy young man who'd just pulled his friend back from the same. Lydia and Stiles sat down cross-legged on the floor and the three dug into the various cartons of ice cream. After a few minutes they began talking, about nothing at all, and soon after that they were laughing.


	6. Sex Lies and Videotape

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Fair warning, if you couldn't guess by chapter title, this one includes some relatively graphic descriptions of sexuality. I've heard some people find that kind of thing offensive – which I think would be kind of silly after reading several chapters' worth of skin being torn apart and shit – but I figure I'll throw it out there anyway.

SEX LIES AND VIDEOTAPE

A few days later, Stiles, home alone, answered the door in broad daylight, expecting it to be his father carrying a load of boxes – he sometimes worked on cases at home and brought the evidence boxes with him, which were always invariably too big for their contents and too big for the sheriff to carry effectively and open doors. Instead, standing there as though he belonged, smiling warmly as though he was perfectly average, was Chris Argent.

"What do you want?" Stiles blurted, the first thing that came to mind. _Yeah, great, get him pissed off up front. Way to go, Manic-Boy_.

Chris stretched out and arm and laid his hand affectionately on Stiles' shoulder. He smiled, brilliantly, and for a second Stiles was too weirded out by the gesture to shrug the hand off. "I came to talk," he said.

Regaining his composure, Stiles did shrug off Chris' hand. "What, your daughter doesn't make house calls anymore?" he asked. Chris' lip curled. "Oh, whoops, that totally just made her sound like a hooker. This is the part where usually I'd apologize, but I'm really not sorry." Chris didn't rise to the bait. "Look, Scott isn't here."

"I know," Chris said, plastering the smile back on his face. "He and Lydia are out in the woods again. Probably 'practicing.' Oh, come on," Chris said, seeing the surprise on Stiles' face. "We've been doing this a long time. We can track a couple of werewolves without being found if we want. Anyway, Stiles, I'm here to speak to you. Would you mind if I came in?"

"Well, I would mind, but since you're probably carrying a gun, I guess we'll do it your way," Stiles said, stepping back and holding up his hand in mock welcome. Chris grinned particularly wide at that and stepped by him. He walked in, looking around, and sat down at the kitchen table as Stiles shut the front door.

"Do you have anything to drink?" he asked. "I could use a beer. Have one yourself." Stiles stared wide-eyed at Chris Argent. _What the hell is going on here?_ "As you mentioned, Stiles, I am the one with a gun," Chris said, when Stiles didn't move, his voice still perfectly even. "And I said I'm thirsty."

Stiles crossed to the fridge, pulled it open, and removed one of his father's bottles of beer. "Uh uh," Chris said, as Stiles went to close the refrigerator. "I said you should have one, too."

His confusion and apprehension mounting, Stiles withdrew one from the fridge for himself, as well. "If this is you clever evil scheme to get me drunk and incapacitated, I have to warn you that I'm a super heavyweight when it comes to beer," he said, handing one to Chris and opening his own.

"Sit, sit," Chris said, indicating the chair across the small table. Uneasily, Stiles slid into it. Chris offered his own bottle up for a clinking of the glasses. When Stiles gave him an even more pronounced furrowed eyebrow, Chris rolled his eyes. "Come on, Stiles, it's tradition. We're toasting your good fortune."

Stiles extended his own bottle and the rims of the two bottles touched, producing a small clinking sound. Chris smiled and upended his own bottle for a moment, then put it back down on the table, sighing and wiping at his mouth. "My good fortune?" Stiles asked. "Are you moving? To Uzbekistan?"

Chris laughed. "Few kids your age even know what Uzbekistan is," he said. "You're fortunate in a lot of ways. You've got intelligence. You have me to give you some good advice – we'll get back to that part. You've got a father who clearly trusts you, leaving beer out in the fridge and you home alone. My own father never would have left alcohol within reach if he knew I was going to be around. He's dead now. I guess that's one more thing you're fortunate for – you still have a father."

"Is that some kind of threat?" Stiles asked, his teeth starting to grate. "Because I definitely got enough of that from your spawn the last time you showed up here."

"It's the furthest thing from a threat possible, Stiles," Chris said. "I'm telling you a story, one which I hope you'll sympathize with."

Stiles sighed, exaggerating the sound to make it seem like he was bored. "Okay, fine," he said. "Your dad's dead. I bet the next part is that he got himself killed by werewolves."

Chris mock pouted, an expression that creeped Stiles out more thoroughly than anything he'd come up with yet. "Come now, Stiles, blaming the victim?" Chris asked. "That's hardly very progressive of you. When he died, my father was an old man who could barely defend himself. He was killed by a werewolf he thought was passive. Clearly he made a mistake."

Stiles nodded. "And Scott and Lydia are werewolves," he said. "You know, it all makes sense now. Let me phone my Dad so I can tell him we're kicking Scott out of the house so he can go be homeless. Ok_ay_?"

Chris scowled, the grin fading from his face. "Look, Stiles, this is serious," he said. "You and your father are innocent bystanders. No one – especially not Scott, I'm sure – wants to see you get hurt. If Scott has even a single moment where he lets his guard down and lets the monster that lives inside him out, he could eviscerate both of you before you blink."

"I trust him," Stiles said, gritting his teeth some more.

"I know," Chris said. "And I've told you what happens when you trust them."

Stiles stood. "Scott is different," he said. "You know it. You've acknowledged it."

"Yes, I have," Chris said. "But we still don't know _how_ different, and I, for one, would feel better knowing that he wasn't sleeping in the same house with a pair of werewolf happy meals."

"So where is he supposed to go?" Stiles asked.

Chris shrugged. "Wolves live in the woods," he said. "Whenever he and Lydia do one of these 'practice' runs that's where they go, isn't it? He's drawn there. He belongs there."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "He belongs where he decides he belongs," he said. "Speaking of belonging, you don't belong here, at all. And I think I'm tired of listening to you."

Chris' eyes narrowed. "Maybe I'm not done talking."

Stiles stood strong. "Maybe I'll call my dad and tell him a man with a gun is in the house and won't leave," he said.

Chris smiled, stood. He leaned close to whisper in Stiles' ear as he passed. "You're clever," he said. "_Maybe_ someday that won't be enough to save you. Or your father." He continued toward the door and left, leaving Stiles standing, trying to take stock of what had just occurred.

Several hours later, Stiles was sitting, pretending to read, when Scott and Lydia came through the door. He greeted them, both red in the face and sweaty, although they were smiling. _So, this is the 'we just worked out and had a good time' sweaty-red-in-the-face, not the 'oh god we're about to die _again_' sweaty-red-in-the-face_, Stiles thought. He looked up from his book to start telling Scott about Chris' visit when Scott held up a manilla envelope. "This was out on the front step," he said. "Your name on it."

"My name?" Stiles asked, reaching for the envelope. He tore it open and several glossy pieces of paper fell out onto the table. "Are these Polaroids?" Stiles looked through them. The top one showed Chris Argent with his hand on Stiles' shoulder. The second showed Stiles handing him a beer. The third, the two of them clinking their beer glasses together.

"It's you and Mr. Argent," Scott observed, while Lydia picked up one of the photos to look at it sideways. "Looking pretty close," he added, matter-of-fact.

Stiles paled. "Scott, they're setting me up," he said. "He came by earlier pretending to be all friendly, talking about how my Dad and I need to get away from you because it's dangerous for us to live with a werewolf, and he did all these weird things that – now I realize – were so they could get pictures so it'd look like we were best friends or something, and - "

Scott laid a hand of his own on his friend's shoulder. "Stiles, calm down," he said. He held one of the pictures up to his friend. "_Clearly_ these are staged. You don't even drink beer."

"You don't drink beer?" Lydia asked.

"Bad experience," Stiles said. He turned to Scott. "What, it's the beer that clinches it for you?"

"Well, I could mention that you're my best friend and I know you're not secretly buddies with a crazy werewolf killer behind my back," Scott said, smiling slightly. "But I figured that went without saying."

Stiles breathed out, evenly. "You're such an asshole sometimes," he said. "But you're my asshole." Both Stiles and Scott stopped. Lydia cleared her throat, turning a little red. "Okay, that came out really, _really_ wrong. Could we maybe forget I said it? I'm coming down off a sudden rush of nerves and I don't have full control over what I say."

Both Scott and Lydia nodded. Lydia tossed the picture she'd been examining back onto the table. "But what is this? Some BS way to make us turn on Stiles? They didn't really think it was going to work, did they?"

"Probably assumed it'd be worth a try," Stiles reasoned. "He was spouting all this stuff about how it's not safe for a pair of regular humans to live with a werewolf because you could lose control at any second and tear us apart."

"For a guy who keeps telling us he won't kill us because we haven't hurt regular people, he does seem to root for us to fail quite often," Lydia muttered.

"Nah, I don't think that's it," Scott said. "I think he just doesn't know how to root for us not to fail."

"Oooh, deep," Lydia said, and Scott scowled at her. "Anyway, what do we do about this?"

"Nothing?" Scott replied, rhetorically. "We're not going to go charging into another mess over their kinda pathetic attempt to make us doubt each other. I think we just let this lie."

"No," Stiles said. "I'm sick of the Argents using my dad to get to us. Anyway, remember all that stuff they used to teach us about standing up to bullies? We can't let them get away with this or they'll think they can do anything."

"They _already_ think they can do anything," Lydia muttered.

"Anyway, like I said, this isn't worth starting a war over," Scott continued.

"Then let's not start a war," Stiles replied. "Stop thinking 'werewolf' and start thinking 'teenager.' This photo bullshit is kind of like a prank. So we prank them back. Only we make sure our prank gets to them."

"Psychological warfare," Scott said, nodding. Both Lydia and Stiles gaped at him and got defensive. "What? I don't always sleep through history class."

"So, which one do we go for?" Lydia asked. "Allison?"

"No," Scott said, a little too quickly. Lydia and Stiles exchanged a nervous glance, which Scott didn't miss. "We don't gain anything by doing something to Allison. Besides, they'd just brush it off as me being, you know, bitter."

"All right, who?" Lydia asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Scott asked, smiling. _Another new smile,_ Stiles thought. _And this one really makes him look like a werewolf._. "If you're going to get psychological, go for the one with the damaged psyche."

***/\***

It took a couple of days' worth of legwork to even start tracking Kate Argent. Stiles had explained to Lydia and Scott how Chris had known that they were in the woods training when he'd arrived, and the two had grown super paranoid since, trying to shake off tails that they couldn't be sure were even there. Not wanting to get caught following Kate around, they'd been extra careful to lose any pursuers before actually starting to track the least emotionally-stable member of the Argent family.

It took a couple of days' more work to start developing a pattern for her. There were only two places she spent a significant amount of time each day – the track near the school and the bar. Neither surprised Scott. It was Friday when they finally came up with a plan to start gathering information on her. She'd come out of the house, dressed up – for her – in short skirt, tight tank top, and high boots, and had proceeded directly to the bar. While Scott and Lydia stood watch, Stiles had picked the lock to the backdoor of her SUV, and planted a microphone under the seat.

"Dude, she's coming out," Scott said, quietly.

"Yeah, I can smell that ridiculous perfume she was wearing when she left the house," Lydia said.

"Can it, bloodhounds!" Stiles hissed back, half his torso half submerged in Kate's backseat. "I have to finish taping this in or the first time someone sits on the seat it'll fall off, and I kinda figure that's not good."

A second later he straightened. "Okay. Done. Let's get out of here."

The three of them hurried away from the SUV and ducked into the woods, turning to watch. "Uh," Lydia said. "Who's that with her?"

Scott followed her gaze. Kate was practically dragging some guy back to her car; he was hurrying to keep up, his hand held her vice-like grip. "Not sure," he said. "I've seen him around town. I think he's in construction or something."

"What's up with the eye patch?"

"Dunno, but if his current taste is any indication, he probably dated a demon chick who ripped it out."

"Quiet!" Scott said. "Stiles, is the microphone working?"

Stiles fiddled with the controls opened his laptop, punched a few keys, and a second later nodded. "Receiving perfectly."

Kate and her partner had reached the car. Instead of going for the front, though, Kate reached for the back door, pulled it open, and pushed the young man inside, following and slamming the door shut so hard the car rocked. All three teens turned to each other, a little pale. "Well, I guess maybe we won't be recording conversation," Lydia said, trying to sound brisk. "Unless Kate believes in pillow talk."

"No pillows in there," Stiles said, lamely.

"You know, Allison did have to fish a condom out of her aunt's stuff a couple of months ago," Scott mused. When Lydia and Stiles both shot glances at Scott, he raised his hands. "It's not like we actually got to use it."

A loud groan from Stiles' computer interrupted them. They looked down at it, then back at the SUV. They could see the upper torsos of both occupants, Kate facing him, him with his back against the seat, suggesting that she was straddling him. The groan had clearly been his; Kate had her own face buried in his neck, and was slowly rocking her hips, shaking her upper body.

"Do we have the camera, too?" Scott asked. Stiles nodded. "Set it up." Lydia quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything.

"You don't think they're already having sex, do you?" Stiles asked, his eyes wide, beginning to film the car.

Lydia rolled her own eyes. "No, Stiles," she said. "This part is called 'foreplay,' and you should really learn a thing or two about it." On the computer, Kate let out a vicious snarl, which was accompanied by her swinging her head back and peeling the tank top off over her head. She reached down and began peeling his own shirt off, twisting one of his arms in the process and eliciting a yelp of pain, to which Kate told the man to shut up. "Uh, just not from her," Lydia added.

Kate reached back, unclasped her bra, and tossed it away in almost one fluid motion. "She's done that a few times before," Scott observed. Then he turned away. "Man, I almost feel embarrassed watching this."

After another couple of minutes of disrobing - and blushes all around among the three teens at Kate's exclamation of, "Slide it in, baby!" - Stiles nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm definitely feeling embarrassed."

Lydia shook her head. "Men," she said. "So uptight and squeamish."

"Lydia, your face is the color of your hair."

"Shut up!"

Scott returned his gaze to the vehicle. Kate and the man she was with had started to develop a rhythm, a rhythm which was causing Kate's ample chest to fly up and down. "Isn't that uncomfortable?" he asked. "You know, her – uh – breasts flapping around like that?"

Lydia nodded. "Yeah, it gets pretty uncomfortable," she said. "Some girls say you don't notice it up there if what's going on down there is distracting enough. Never been my experience, though."

Stiles gave her a sideways look. "Your experience?" he asked, a funny, clouded expression on his face.

"Yes, my experience," Lydia said, pointedly. "As in, 'I am experienced at sex. I have sexual experience.' I'm not a virgin, unlike you two." Stiles looked down at the ground. "Come on, don't tell me that puts you off."

"I guess it makes me a little sad," Stiles said. "Especially since it sounds like you didn't like it that much." Lydia blanched, not expecting the empathic comment. Then Stiles blushed and grinned. "I guess it turns me on a little too, though, that you've got experience and everything."

Scott, for his part, was still watching the SUV, which had begun to rock. "We're watching Kate Argent hate fuck some guy in her car and you're turned on."

"That's the power of the American teenage male," Stiles said. He turned and raised an eyebrow at Lydia. "Hey, I have superpowers too. Does that turn _you_ on?"

Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Put your hands around my neck." Kate's slightly crackly voice was nonetheless distinctly hers. "Press hard. No, harder, make it hard for me to breathe. Come on, you pussy – oh, there, that's it." Her voice got higher as she gasped for air. Scott could see the man had large hands, wrapped firmly now around Kate's throat. "Now growl. You gotta growl or I won't come. Oh, come on, just growl, damn it –yeah, like a wolf or a bear - oh. Oh, there." Scott could hear growling sounds now as well as Kate's increasing cries. "Oh, yes! Fuck me like that! Fuck me like that, Derek! Fuck _yes!_"

Scott did a double take. He was aware of Lydia and Stiles doing pretty much the same out of the periphery of his vision. "Did you guys hear that?" he asked.

"Did she say 'Derek?'"

"That's even more twisted than I thought."

On the computer, they could hear Kate, dwindling after her orgasm, telling the man she was with that of course she remembered his name was Stan, that it was an old habit, and to shut the fuck up because he'd come too anyway. "I think we're done here," Scott said. "And I think I have an idea of what we're going to do with this."

***/\***

When Allison arrived home the next day, she found a manilla envelope waiting on the stairs. She picked up and, curious, opened it, finding a DVD inside with the words "PLAY ME" written on the case in black sharpie. Puzzled, she took it inside, put in the DVD player in the living room, flounced down on the couch and hit "Play" on the remote control.

There was no menu; the DVD just started playing, a dark, stationary shot of a parking lot at night. Allison squinted for a second, but then the camera auto-corrected the light and suddenly she was looking at her aunt's SUV. Allison searched the screen for a clue as to why she was seeing this, then realized – her aunt was in the SUV's backseat with a man, and her aunt was taking her shirt off. Allison's eyes widened. She picked up the manilla envelope and the DVD case, searching for any other identifying marks, but there was nothing.

The front door opened and Allison paled. She scrambled for the remote, to turn the TV off, but she was too late. Her father stepped into the room. "What are you watching, honey?" he asked, looking through the mail.

"Nothing!" Allison said, scrambling with the remote to turn it off. "I was just turning it off anyway!"

"Slide it in, baby!"

Allison squeezed her eyes shut tightly as her father looked up at the screen again. _I think I'm going to die right here._ "Is that your aunt?" Chris asked, squinting at the screen and setting the mail down on the table. "Allison, what is this?"

"I don't know," Allison said, opening her eyes and holding out the manilla envelope and DVD case. "It was on the stairs when I got home."

Chris looked them over. "I think I know who it's from. I actually found one in my car on the way home today, too. That's why I came in here first thing; I wanted to see what I'd found, but I'm betting now it's the same thing."

"You think it's retaliation for the Stiles thing?" Allison asked.

Chris nodded. "Probably," he said. "Perfect, really; all they're hurting is Kate's pride. And they know that once she finds out about it, she'll go off, and we'll have to keep her from doing something about it. Although given the level of this invasion I'm tempted to just let her do as she will."

On the screen, her aunt had been instructing the man she was having sex with to wrap his hands around her neck and growl, which Allison was trying to ignore but which made Chris quirk an eyebrow. The next group of phrases that came from her aunt made Allison stare fully at the screen as her aunt quaked and, afterward, collapsed: "Oh, yes! Fuck me like that! Fuck me like that, Derek! Fuck _yes!_"

"Derek?" Allison asked. "As in Derek Hale?" Suddenly the instructions about making growling sounds – _like a wolf_, Allison thought – made perfect sense, if the whole thing was still completely insane. Allison blushed. "Dad, what the hell?"

Chris, for the first time Allison could remember, looked thoroughly embarrassed. "Your aunt and Derek had a relationship, of sorts," he admitted. "After we found out about what really happened in the Hale fire, I'd assumed that she had just been using him to get to them. I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was a little more complicated than that."

The screen went dark for a second, and then Scott's image popped up on it. "We got your pictures of you and Stiles," he said to the camera, silhouetted by trees. "Unlike those, what you just saw was completely un-staged. If you're going to be our _custodians_, you might want to check your ranks and make sure everyone's objective where wolves are concerned. Just a _friendly_ heads up."

The screen went dark. Anticipating a loop, Allison finally found the shut off switch, terminating the power to the television. She and her father sat for a second. _I just watched porn with my Dad,_ Allison thought. _Porn of my aunt. That my boyfriend shot. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever. This is so fucked up._ "That was pretty messed up, wasn't it?" Chris asked. Allison nodded, her eyes balls of horror. Chris turned to look at her. "We have no way of knowing how many copies of this they made," he said. "We should go upstairs and look through your aunt's room. If possible we need to make sure she doesn't see that tape."

Allison nodded. They both pushed themselves off the couch. Unfortunately, as they did so, the front door flew open and Allison heard her aunt go storming up the steps. She exchanged a worried glance with her father and the two of them followed. At the top of the steps they found Kate in her room, loading her hunting rifle with silver bullets. Before either Chris or Allison could say anything, Kate burst out furiously. "They videotaped me!" she said. "The little fucking dogs videotaped me! I'm going over there and turning them into red smears on the carpet!"

"Kate, you need to settle down so we can talk about this," Chris said, holding his hands up in what Allison hoped was a manner her aunt would find soothing.

"Talk about this?" Kate asked. "They videotaped me, Chris! Having _sex_!"

Chris sighed. "Yes, I know."

"You know?" Kate asked, confused. Then her eyes widened and she pulled the hammer back violently on the hunting rifle, chambering a round. "They made copies. You've seen it."

Chris nodded. "Yeah, that's what it looks like," he said.

"Chris, get out of my way," Kate said, turning to face him and Allison. "I'm going over there and I'm executing them, right now. And anyone else who gets in my way."

"Kate, listen to yourself," Chris said. "You know you can't do that. This is what they wanted – they wanted you to go off your hinges and for us to have to stop you. And you know that we will."

"Try," Kate said, through gritted teeth, but she didn't move forward.

When, after a moment of tense waiting, she still didn't make a move to try and force her way past Chris, Chris took a slow but calm step into her room. "It's okay, Kate," he said, soothingly. "Just put down the guns and we can talk about it. Or we can go outside and burn the DVDs. Whatever you need. But you're not killing anyone, right? You're not a murderer?"

Kate laughed. "I'm not a murderer," she muttered. "I'm not now and I never have been. And I wouldn't be still if I marched into that house and blew Scott McHall's head off, right now."

"It still wouldn't be _right_," Chris said, stepping close enough to lay a hand on the hunting rifle.

Kate shook her head. "Your ideas of right and wrong are too complicated, big brother," she said. "If someone's a _thing_, you kill them. If someone crosses you, you deal with it. Life's that simple. You'd be happier if you accepted it. Hell, I'd be happier if you accepted it, because then those two little bitches would be dead and I wouldn't be putting up with this shit."

Chris pulled the rifle out of her hands, gently. He opened the chamber, popping the cartridge out, and tossed the rifle down on the bed. "It's okay," he said. "Maybe it's time we found you a different assignment. Something away from shapeshifters."

"Like hell," Kate said, cracking her knuckles and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I'm staying until this is over."

"It might not be over," Chris said. "Ever."

Kate looked up at him. "You don't believe that," she said. "I know you, Chris. You go in for the code and all of its righteousness, but in the end you still know they're just beasts, just like I do. And you know that this is going to come to a head, sooner rather than later."

Chris shook his head, laid a hand on his sister's shoulder. "I don't think I'm _just_ like you when it comes to looking at werewolves," he said, his usual hardness returned somewhat. "We'll let you have your peace. Don't go out tonight."

Chris and Allison retreated from Kate's bedroom, back downstairs. "You didn't bring up the Derek thing," Allison observed, as they took seats back on the couch.

"I don't know if she even got that far into the video," Chris replied. "I doubt it took her long to figure out who'd shot it. Given how delicate she was up there I didn't want to push it." Chris turned to look Allison in the eye. "We're going to need to keep our heads," he said. "Once again, Scott is making it more difficult for us to just let them be. This might not be the last piece of video art they try to use against us, either. I don't suppose you could try to talk him out of this sort of thing."

"I've tried talking to him," Allison said, her own voice hardening. "That bridge is pretty well burned."

Chris smiled slightly. "I said the same to him about you, a while back," he said. "Word for word. You really are a chip off the old block."

Allison laughed. "You're a dweeb," she said.

Chris' smile widened. "Guess I'm old fashioned sometimes," he said. The smile slipped. "I meant what I said. We have to keep our heads. Given your – uh, history – with him, Scott might try to hurt you like he hurt Kate."

Allison felt her stomach clench, but she forced the pain – and all of the other feeling welling under the surface – away. "He can't," she said, perfectly evenly.


	7. Fledglings

FLEDGLINGS

"Control. If you control yourself, you stand the best chance of controlling the situation."

Allison felt sweat trickle down from her hair line to sneak under the bandana that covered her eyes, tracing a cool line behind it. It wasn't particularly warm. She resisted the urge to shiver, keeping the muscles in her legs tight, unwavering.

"You need to learn to stay calm and focused, even when every aspect of your situation tells your mind and your body otherwise."

Her legs were straining. She felt the rubber tire she was standing on shift slightly. By then she'd learned that it would shift slightly in the breeze, that it didn't necessarily mean she was about to fall off. Again.

"You need to know balance. You need to know patience. And when the time comes, you need to know decisive action. Now!"

Allison raised her bow, which she'd been holding in her right hand, and pulled an arrow from her quiver. She tried to fit it, fumbled, felt her lips purse and a chill run up her back. Her legs lost their tension and turned to jelly and second later she pitched forward, the bow and arrow flying out of her hands. She landed painfully on her chest.

Rolling over onto her back and panting, Allison pulled the blindfold down to see her father scowling at her. "That's the fifth time in a row you've fallen off, and you've only had to stand ten minutes before shooting. The actual drill calls for you to stand for a half hour."

Allison eyed the tire, laying on its side, and the target hung from a tree in their backyard. It was, as her father had said, the fifth time she'd failed – failed to stand blindfolded on the tire for ten minutes and then, on command, shoot the target, which she'd only gotten to see and orient herself toward before the blindfold had gone on. Allison shook her head. "This isn't fair," she said.

"Fair?" Chris asked, a note of contempt in his voice. "Allison, 'fair' is out the window. You're fighting creatures who are naturally stronger and faster than you, and have an inborn rage and desire to rip you limb from limb, just for the sake of it. The fights you'll find yourself in won't be fair, and so neither is the training. We'll resume in a half hour."

He turned to walk back into the house. Allison picked herself up off the ground and retrieved her bow. Standing at the same distance the tire had been at, she drew an arrow back and let it fly. Bullseye.

"You know, I've always thought that was impressive," a voice came to her. Allison glanced over her shoulder to see Kate leaning against the door frame. "Me, I was never much with the bow. I always preferred the guns. The boom is more satisfying."

Allison cringed – she'd never really noticed until after the sex tape just how many of her aunts sayings seemed to carry a sexual connotation, but they were starting to unnerve her. "Was there something you wanted?" Allison asked.

Kate pushed off the house and began walking over to her. "You know, you could stop acting like a frigid bitch around me," she said. "I'm still your aunt. I know the last month has been kind of hard on you – it's always hard when you first learn about all this, and it was harder for you because you were already dating one of the things. Just between you and me, I hope you and Scott never made it past second base. They kind of put you off the normal male variety a bit afterward."

This time Allison shivered outright, glad she wasn't standing on the tire any longer. "Can we not talk about this, please?"

"What's the matter, still have a soft spot for Scotty?" Kate asked.

"No," Allison said, pushing away the familiar twist in her stomach – it was getting to the point where she almost wasn't conscious of having to do it anymore. "It's just, after that tape, I kind of don't want to talk to you about sex."

"Why not?" Kate asked. Allison gave her an incredulous look – _is she just going to pretend it didn't happen when she was ready to run off and kill Scott and Lydia over it? -_ and Kate held up her hands in supplication. "Okay, okay, I realize the tape was kind of extreme. I certainly never meant for you to see any of that. Or your father, for that matter. Blech." She grinned. "But you know, through all of this, we're still gal-pals, right?"

Allison resisted the urge to roll her eyes, turning back to the target and drawing another arrow. "Sure. Right."

She could practically hear the shrug in her aunt's tone. "Anyway, I agree with you. Not only is that test unfair, it's pointless."

Allison let the tension slowly out of the bow, mulling her aunt's words. "Why pointless?" she asked, not turning.

"Because your father has the whole approach to fighting werewolves wrong," Kate replied. "He's right that one on one they're a match for us, but he's convinced that being some kind of Buddhist monk is the way to make up for that. So he puts you on a tire, makes you wait until you're exhausted, and asks you to hit a target. To make you better. I say bullshit. Kick out the tire. Burn the blindfold. Cut the target off the tree. Do whatever you have to, to give yourself the advantage."

"Like murdering the Hales," Allison muttered.

Kate crossed and stood in front of her, grasping her by the shoulders. "Yes, like killing the Hales," she said. Allison's eyes widened in shock. Despite several confrontations and a lot of yelling, to the best of Allison's knowledge Kate had yet to come straight out and admit that she'd been behind the fire that had decimated the Hale family. "Kill them before they can kill you. If they talk about peace, watch for their claws in your back. If they mean it, or think they do, use it to your advantage. Learn them, get all the information you can, and then use it to kill them before they can kill you."

"So that's why you used Derek," Allison said. "To get to his family. Right?"

Kate grinned wickedly. "He had several uses," she admitted, and Allison blushed. "But he was so innocent and willing and – I guess calling him a "puppy dog" would be ironic, wouldn't it? And romantic! You know he actually read love poetry to me? It was something by Keats. He mispronounced half the words."

"And you used him," Allison pressed. The knot in her stomach wasn't going away as easy this time. She rubbed at her stomach, trying to massage it out; this gesture did nothing to help her.

Kate shook her head. "Remember what Derek was," she said. "All that sappy romance – he completely surrendered himself to being in love. You know what all that love and passion is? Unrestrained emotion. There's nothing more dangerous from a werewolf than unrestrained emotion, no matter what emotion that might be."

"And yet he never hurt you."

"He never killed me," Kate corrected. "But he did hurt me, a few times. He actually shifted during sex, more and more near the end. Eventually, if we'd kept going the way we had been, he would have killed me. Of course," Kate said, and grinned that wicked grin again, "there are worse ways to die. That boy could really satisfy, let me tell you." The grin slipped into something more familiar – the look Allison associated with the sisterly aunt who'd been a friend and confidant as well as an authority figure since she was little. "Come on, you gotta tell me how far you and Scott made it. Just between us girls."

Allison looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "We didn't," she said. "We made out a few times but it never really went beyond that."

Kate shrugged again. "Well, you're probably better off, like I was saying," she said. "Regular guys just seem a little bland after a few rounds with a werewolf."

Allison's light blush deepened. She didn't meet her aunt's eyes for the next question. "So is that why you – you know, asked that guy to – you know - "

"Put his hands around my neck and growl?" Kate asked. Allison nodded, her face beet red. "Yeah, I guess. I don't really think about that stuff much. I just do whatever feels best. Life's easier and more fun that way."

Allison shook her head, finally meeting her aunt's eyes. "I don't feel anything at all right now."

Kate gave her a last, parting smile, turned to go. "Then keep training with your dad, he's the same way," she said. "But for the record, I don't believe you. You've got some fire in you, and part of you knows I'm right."

Allison scratched at the dirt, thought a rhetorical question would get aunt to back off. "And what do I do with the other part of me?"

Kate answered anyway, on her way back into the house. "Bury it. _That's_ the part that'll get you killed."

***/\***

"Okay, _what_ is the point of all this?"

Scott grinned, sardonically. "You wanted to learn."

"Scott, you're holding a fish."

Scott looked down into his hands. "A dead fish, actually."

"Yes. A dead fish."

"Can you smell it?"

"Yes."

"Good," Scott replied. He and Lydia were back in the woods, albeit far from where they'd encountered the Argents. "You're going to close your eyes and count to a thousand. Then you're going to find the fish. And don't use any of those math tricks to count faster."

"Math tricks?" Lydia asked. "To count faster? Are you really serious?"

"New training rule," Scott said. "You don't get to make fun of me."

Lydia rolled her eyes, but closed her eyes. "I'm counting," she said. "Go, hide the disgusting thing." Scott grinned and in a flash was gone. By the time Lydia reached a thousand and opened her eyes, Scott was back, standing with his arms folded, leaning against a tree. "Now what do I do?"

"Follow your nose," Scott said. "Scent tracking is one of the most natural things in the world to your wolf side. You have to let go a little bit to access it and let it guide you. The trick is to not let yourself go completely. Honestly, this lesson is as much about that as actually learning to scent."

"Great," Lydia said. She shut her eyes again and inhaled in a deep, exaggerated fashion. "Now if I want to smell stuff, I might go crazy and kill people."

"That's why I picked the fish," Scott said. "Doesn't smell like food to us."

Lydia's eyes flew open, exceptionally wide. "Scott, what _doe_s smell like food to us?"

Scott didn't meet her gaze. "You mean you haven't noticed?"

"Oh, man, I didn't realize what it was," Lydia said, clutching at her stomach. "I think I might be sick."

"Focus, Lydia," Scott said. "I know it's a cold comfort, but the more you learn about it, the less it'll control you."

Lydia nodded, exhaled slowly, straightened up and let her eyes flutter shut. She inhaled again, not exaggerating this time, and after a second she started noticing things she'd never noticed before._ Pine sap_, she thought. _I can smell the pine sap._ As more and more images began to pop into her mind from the barrage of smells she started getting a little overwhelmed and tried to reign herself in. _I can smell the grass, and the raccoon cubs a half mile away, and potato chips Scott was eating earlier today, and - _

Lydia sharply exhaled, realizing that she'd clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut trying to concentrate. When she opened her eyes again, Scott was smiling sympathetically. "It's hardest the first few times," he said. "Werewolves have enhanced senses and different instincts, but as near as we can tell they all get jumbled up with our human senses and our human instincts, so sometimes one will be on while the other will be off. You'll learn to sort through it."

"I smell blood," Lydia said, abruptly.

"You will," Scott replied. "A lot. For one thing, it's what your nose is looking for. For another, blood is everywhere. Nature bleeds. People bleed, more than you'll believe."

"Such a guy thing to say," Lydia muttered.

Scott frowned at her. "For now, just try to work around all that," he said. "Find the scent of the fish."

Her eyes fluttered shut. For a second she wasn't sure she could do it; then Lydia began moving, her eyes still closed, Scott following behind. After taking a few steps, she reached out a hand and pressed it against a tree. Scott smiled as she opened her eyes. "It was here," she said.

"I rubbed it against that tree before hiding it," he revealed.

"Amazing," she said. "It's like the air is highlighted in the right direction."

"Stiles found something on the internet about that," Scott said. "Humans' eyesight are their primary sense. For wolves that isn't precisely the case – our sense of smell is excellent too. But we've been humans our whole lives up until this point, so it makes sense that we'd think of our enhanced sense of smell in visual terms."

Lydia nodded. "Cool," she said. "You know, not in any way that anything was ever cool before all this started happening, but still. Cool."

"Had to reevaluate a few things?" Scott asked, as Lydia closed her eyes and began moving again. "Like maybe Stiles?"

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked.

"I don't know," Scott said. "Just, the two of you seem to be – well, flirting."

Lydia's eyes opened again. She stopped walking and turned to Scott. "So you're an expert now?" she asked.

Scott's face clouded. "Not really," he said.

Lydia softened. "I'm sorry, that wasn't an okay thing to say," she said. "I just – I don't know, okay? He's nice, and after Jackson's near-complete indifference I guess it'd be a nice change to be with someone who really cares about me."

"Tell me about it," Scott muttered.

"But all this is still too new," Lydia continued. Without realizing it she'd begun walking again. "I mean, I don't even know if I'd want to _date_ him, you know? I know it's not a popularity contest or anything – I kind of think my days in the in-crowd are over – but I'm still getting used to a whole new world, and I appreciate how nice and helpful he's been, I really do, but I don't want to mistake that for something else and make everything awkward."

"Right now, it's kind of nice just having friends," Scott translated.

"Yeah," she said. "Even though you're both completely annoying."

"I might be annoying," Scott said, nodding down at the forest floor. "But you found a fish."

"That didn't make sense," Lydia said. Then she looked down. "But, uh, yeah, I found a fish."

"The fish."

"Yes, the fish."

"Do you know how you did it?"

"No," Lydia admitted. "I just kind of did."

Scott nodded. "That's how a lot of this works," he said. "The wolf's mind isn't exactly separate from yours, but you'll find that there are – instincts, for lack of a better term – that you can access and use to accomplish certain things. Again, the challenge is not letting everything take over when you want to access one. And you just passed the challenge."

"How?" Lydia asked.

Scott grinned. "Well, talking about Stiles seemed to help."

"Oh, blech," Lydia said. "Don't give me that phony romantic crap."

"Serious," Scott said. "Allison used to – uh, you know, keep me calm and centered."

Scott cleared his throat and looked down, looking suddenly uncomfortable. _Now's as good a time as any to jump into this conversation_, Lydia thought. "You need to talk about her at some point, Scott," she said. "It's obviously tearing you up."

"I just don't know what to say, or do for that matter," he said. "Both she and her father said something about that bridge being burnt. Even their metaphors are violent."

"But how do _you_ feel?" Lydia asked.

"I don't know," Scott said. "I just – I mean, more than anything else, I just want things to go back to before. Only without the werewolf thing. I know there's no way we can ever go back to that. I mean, beside the werewolf thing being permanent, too much has happened since she found out. I can't forgive her, but," Scott blanched for a second, tears welling in his eyes. "I can't seem to let go of her, either."

Lydia nodded slowly. "Maybe you should talk to Stiles about this," she said. "I want to help, but I'm not so good with feelings. And I'm not so good at consoling guys. He'd probably have more insight on, you know, 'girl troubles' or whatever."

Scott laughed. "Not so much," he said. "Stiles' version of 'girl troubles' has been 'Lydia didn't notice me waving _again_' for the last four years or so, and the last time I asked him for advice on girls, the advice he gave me was, 'find a girl as pretty as Lydia, but not Lydia herself, okay?' He's a little single-minded on the subject."

Lydia blushed, despite herself. "He really thinks I'm that pretty?" she asked.

"He really does," Scott said. "He's thought it for years. I know he's kind of a nerd – he's my brother but I've got to admit it's true – but you know, he's an athlete too, and it's not like he's deformed. He could probably have dated a bunch of other girls, but he's only got eyes for you. For the longest time I couldn't figure it out."

"Why?" Lydia asked, her old haughtiness returning for a second. "Is it so hard to imagine being infatuated with me?"

Scott rolled his eyes. "Not what I meant," he said. "And you know it. Anyway, now I do get it. I think I didn't get it because back then I'd never been in love, myself."

Lydia's blush returned. "You think he's in love with me?" she asked.

Scott shrugged. "I think maybe that's a conversation you should have with him," he said. "I think given my present situation I might not be the best judge."

Lydia nodded. "Maybe I will. Not yet, but maybe at some point I will."

"Good."

"Scott?"

"Yes, Lydia?"

"What are we doing with the fish?"

***/\***

After another hour of exercises Scott and Lydia had decided to call it quits. Overall, Scott was impressed with her progress. _If only Derek had been more patient like this_, he thought, and felt a slight pang. _Okay, thinking less of the dead, not my finest hour._

Surprisingly, the sheriff's car was at the Stilinski house when Scott arrived there. The sheriff himself was sitting at the table with a thorougly-conflicted looking Stiles, and Scott knew immediately that whatever was coming wasn't going to be good news.

"What is it?" he said, by way of greeting.

"Hello, Scott," Sheriff Stilinski said, turning to look over his shoulder at the sweaty young werewolf. _And he still has no idea that that's what I am._ "I think maybe you should come in and sit down."

Scott drew up a chair and sat, between Stiles and his father. "What's going on?" he asked, with slightly more urgency. _And why didn't Stiles find a way to let me know before I had to run into his father? Must not be a werewolf problem. What, then?_

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat. "Scott, you know Stiles and I love having you here," he began. _Oh, no_. "But this could only be a temporary arrangement. I'm not in any position to become your legal guardian."

"Then what's going to happen to me?" Scott asked, feeling suddenly very small. _This can't be happening_.

"Your father has come forward, Scott," the Sheriff said. "I spoke with him on the phone earlier. He's agreed to take you in."

The room spun. Scott grabbed the table for support, digging in to keep from falling over. His father. His father, who he hadn't seen in years. His father, the complete loser who'd bailed on him and his mother completely. "That can't be," Scott said. "He gave up custody in the divorce. He didn't even ask for visitation rights. Doesn't that mean he doesn't have any rights now?"

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," Sheriff Stilinski said, leaning back now that the part he'd known would be shocking was delivered. "He's your family, Scott. I know it's hard for you to hear, given everything that happened, but he sounded like he genuinely wants to help you."

Tears were threatening to well up in Scott's eyes. "Can't I get that thing where I'm declared to be on my own?" he asked. "I forget the word. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Emancipation," Stiles threw in. "Yeah, I thought of that, too."

"Unfortunately, I don't think – and I'm pretty sure a judge would agree with me – that you're in the right place right now for that," Sheriff Stilinski replied, trying to look as kind as possible as he said it. "You've only just turned sixteen, just suffered a terrible emotional loss. I really don't think a petition for emancipation would be granted under your circumstances, and it'd be more painful for you and your father if you tried and didn't get it and still had to go live with him."

"Wait a minute, _go live with him?_" Scott asked, the kitchen beginning to spin again. "As in, leave Beacon Falls?"

Sheriff Stilinski sighed. It was clear to Scott that he'd been anticipating this conversation going like this. "Yes, Scott," he said. "Your father has put down roots elsewhere. Given all the mistakes he made while he was still here – you know how small towns are, they don't forgive, not even after years. I doubt your father can just uproot his life and come back to a town that hates him. There are considerations – he has to have work, a place to live, the means to provide for you. I can't say for certain because ultimately its his decision, but I'd assume you'd be going to live with him."

This time the kitchen wouldn't stop spinning. Scott pushed back from the table and rose to unsteady feet. He'd left claw marks in the edge of the table but he couldn't bring himself to care. "I'm going out," he announced. "For a run. Clear my head."

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. "Okay," he said. "Don't stay out too late. Remember, we're here for you, Scott. I'm sorry."

Stiles followed Scott to the door. By the time he'd gotten there the room had stopped spinning, but his head still felt like it was caught in a vice. "What are you going to do?" Stiles asked.

"Go down to the field," Scott said, still in a daze. "Remember, I started playing lacrosse after my dad left. Kind of feels appropriate right now."

"Want me to come along?" Stiles asked. "I could drive."

"Thanks," Scott said, hearing the words coming out of his own mouth. "I think I'd rather be alone for a while."

Stiles nodded and stepped back as Scott stepped through the door and took off at a run.

***/\***

After her father had been done trying to get her to shoot targets from tires – angrily telling her that they'd try again tomorrow when she felt like focusing, which, again, she'd thought hadn't been fair – her aunt had asked if she wanted to work out with her instead. For lack of a better alternative, Allison had agreed, which is how they'd wound up at the school track in workout clothes, doing laps.

They'd been taking a break, passing a bottle of water back and forth, when Scott had showed up. Kate had nudged Allison's leg and pointed. Allison wrestled down the familiar stomach-twinge and watched. Scott paid them no mind – there wasn't anyone else at the track – and instead just started running. Allison couldn't help but keep watching as he accelerated into a dead sprint, running much faster than the average person could manage, his muscles straining and quaking each time he drove his feet into the blacktop.

"He's a pretty impressive specimen," Kate said, catching where Allison was looking. Allison looked away but managed to avoid blushing. "Not as impressive as Derek was in that department, but I still think Scott's eyes are better. Of course, we're missing a pretty vital statistic in making a final comparison."

"What?" Allison asked.

Kate rolled her eyes. "His cock, Allison," she said. "His penis. How big is it?"

"You can't possibly be serious," Allison replied. Kate shrugged. "Anyway, remember, I told you, we only ever made out. We never made it that far."

"You never even made it far enough to _see_ it?" Kate asked. "Sheesh, I'm pretty sure I kissed Derek there before I kissed his lips."

The blush finally broke through. "Can we please drop this subject now?" Allison asked.

"Someday you're going to learn to loosen up," Kate said. She licked her lips, looked out at Scott, who was circling the track and getting closer. "Starting now."

Before Allison could stop her, Kate hopped up and beckoned Scott over. Scott, whose focus had seemed to have been on running as hard as possible, seemed startled at hearing his name. When he saw who was calling it – _and when he saw me_ – his eyes narrowed. Slowing to a walk, he made his way slowly over to where both Argent women were now standing, one row up in the bleachers. "What do you want?"

Allison went to tell him to forget it when Kate shushed her. "Allison and I were just having a conversation about your penis," she said. "I was wondering how big it is."

"Excuse me?" Scott asked, looking as though he legitimately hadn't understood what Kate just said. His eyes were far away. _Something's wrong_.

"Your penis," Kate said. She was sneering at him. "Come on, Scott, you've seen what I've got. Videotaped it, didn't you? Now I want to know about what you've got. Maybe I'd even go in for a few thrusts before we wind up having to kill you. Your old friend Derek was good for that. You know, before I killed him."

Scott shook his head, trying to clear cobwebs that weren't disappearing. "After everything you've done, I don't suppose it'd bother you that that would be statutory rape, would it."

Kate turned to look at Allison. "I see why you two were together," she said. "He's as uptight as you are."

"Enough," she said to Kate. She turned to Scott, whose eyes looked – blank. Just blank. _He didn't even look that bad at the funeral._ "I'm sorr- " she started to say, then stopped. His expression didn't change. "Never mind. We're leaving."

"What was that?" Kate asked, grabbing Allison's arm as she turned to walk away down the bleachers.

"Just never mind," Allison muttered. "Let's get out of here."

"You were going to apologize," Kate said. "To _that_. This thing that humiliated me, Allison. Come on, if you're _really_ sorry, I want to see you go through with it. Apologize to him."

Allison allowed Kate to spin her around so she was facing Scott again. Scott was breathing heavily and she could tell he was holding something back, something that was crushing him from the inside. Again Allison felt an involuntary urge to run to him and throw her arms around him, but as soon as the thought materialized she quashed it. _No,_ she thought. _Not again._ "No," she said out loud. "I'm not sorry."

Kate arched an eyebrow. "Well. Good. I guess maybe we will be going." She turned and pulled Allison along the bleachers, not looking back until they'd reached Kate's SUV. Once they climbed inside, Allison opened her mouth to rebuke her aunt, but Kate held up a finger to her mouth to shush her and instead reached into the glove compartment for a small notebook and a pen. She scribbled for a second and then handed both to Allison. **Safer 2 talk this way. Do u want 2 take him?**

"I think we can talk," Allison said, nodding at Scott. He hadn't moved a step, but his body was starting to shake. He seemed to be on the verge of tears. "I don't think he's listening."

"One way to find out," Kate said. She reached for the radio and turned it on, full volume. Scott didn't react at all, but Allison jumped a little in her seat, the blaring sound of the Ramones unexpected. Seeing the lack of a reaction from Scott, Kate turned the radio back down. "Huh. Guess he's not listening in. So, do you want to?"

"Are you nuts?" Allison hissed. "I don't even have my bow."

Kate grinned. "This is my truck, little lady," she said. "I've got weapons to spare. You're a pretty good shot with a rifle too, right? I bet we could take him. He looks pretty distracted. We put a few in him from a distance to slow him down, then finish him off up close. We burn the body afterward and if anyone asks, he just snapped and ran off, case closed. Bet your father would even go for it."

Allison was staring, open-mouthed, at her aunt. "I can't believe you," she said. "No, we're not going to just kill him."

"Why? Because it's against the code, or because you still have feelings for him?" Allison sputtered and Kate held up her hands. "Okay, fine, we won't kill him. But I think you need to cut some ties here."

"What do you think telling him I'm not sorry back there was all about?"

Kate rolled her eyes again. "That was about you acting like an angry, lovesick girl," Kate responded. "You want to be a hunter? March over there with a pistol in hand and tell that _werewolf_ that while we're not going to take him down right now, he needs to get a grip on whatever's making him sob like a baby. Remember what I said, strong feelings of any kind for a werewolf are dangerous. I'll back you up."

Kate pulled up the center console of the SUV and pulled out a pistol, handed it to Allison. It was heavier than it looked. _I don't think Dad would disapprove of this_, she thought. _Kate has a point. I'm just telling him to get a grip. That's all_.

She stepped out of the car. Kate grinned and pulled a hunting rifle out of the back seat. Allison glanced back as she began walking back over to Scott; Kate had the rifle balanced on the hood of the SUV, already pointed right at Scott. Kate nodded and Allison nodded back, trying to look confident.

Allison marched up to him, feeling the pistol's cool weight in her hand. "Scott," she said, and she was surprised how angry she sounded, even to herself. Scott looked around at her, his eyes wide and full of tears. "You need to get a handle on whatever's making you this upset."

"What?" Scott asked, uncomprehending.

"It isn't safe for you to be getting this emotional," she said. "Especially not in areas where there are people nearby."

"What?" Scott asked again, a little more emphasis.

"Just remember the terms of our little treaty," Allison said, fingering the hammer on the pistol so that Scott could see it clearly. "You may not have hurt anyone yet, but if it looks like you're going to - " She let the threat hang in the air, as much because she didn't want to finish the sentence as for dramatic effect, but she didn't think Scott could tell.

"You're threatening me?" Scott asked, stupidly.

"Yes," Allison said. "I'm glad you understand that. Don't do anything dumb."

She turned to walk away. She heard Scott from behind her. "I wouldn't have fought back if you'd shot me." She slowed for a second, thought about turning, but in the end decided to keep walking. When she reached the SUV she climbed in. Kate jumped in beside her and peeled out. For a second, she thought Scott must have moved aggressively to warrant her aunt's sudden action, but when she glanced back Soctt was still standing there, stock still, staring after her.

"Ballsy to walk all the way back to the car with your back turned," Kate said, grinning ear to ear as they rapidly left the track behind. "What was that last thing he said to you? I didn't catch it."

The look on Scott's face flashed through Allison's mind for the briefest of seconds. "Nothing," she said, glancing at the look of predatory satisfaction in Kate's eyes. "Nothing at all."


	8. Fatherhood

FATHERHOOD

Once upon a time, Scott had slept in every day. Since becoming the Alpha, he'd found that as the sun rose, so did he, no matter how late he'd been up the day before; he had energy reserves that didn't make logical sense. As such, despite tossing and turning most of the night, at 6AM the next day he was up and about, before either Stiles or his father was up. He went out for a jog, now careful to avoid the school's sports complex – _just one more thing someone can take away from me_, he thought, wondering if there was any way he could say it without sounding bitter. _Whatever. I've earned a little bitterness_.

When he got back from his jog, he found Sheriff Stilinski dressed and waiting for him at the kitchen table. "Have a good run?" he asked.

"Not bad, I suppose," Scott replied. The jog was more about getting some air than getting exercise; to be honest, his muscles barely registered the two miles he'd just put in.

The sheriff nodded. "Good, good," he said. He indicated a mug on the table. "Want some coffee? I probably shouldn't get you hooked on the stuff, but I can't seem to start my own day without it, so it'd be hypocritical of me not to offer."

"That's okay," Scott said. "I seem to be possessed of a truly demonic level of energy these days."

The sheriff gave him a funny look. "I know this isn't going to be easy on you," the sheriff said. "Your father should be up by about noon. He'll meet us at the station."

Scott shook his head. "This whole thing is completely warped," he said.

"I wish there was some way I could make this right for you," the sheriff said, choking up a little. "I know – I know what Stiles went through when he lost his mom, but at least he had you and me. If we're being honest I'm not even the slightest bit sure that handing you over to your father is the right thing to do. But it is the necessary thing to do."

Scott felt a rush of empathy break the clouds in his head. "It's okay, Sheriff Stilinski," he said. "I'll be fine. I'm a survivor."

The sheriff smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you are. But your life should be about more than just surviving."

Scott began to feel something, but instantly the clouds returned, saving him. "Just surviving will have to be fine for now."

Several hours later, Scott and Stiles arrived at the Beacon Hill Police Station in Stiles' Jeep. Lydia was standing out front. Scott threw a questioning glance at Stiles. "I texted her," he admitted. "I figured you'd need all the support you can get."

"And he seems to think that I'm good at emotional support," Lydia said, as they stepped out of the car. Stiles glanced back at it – the windows were both all the way up and he'd said his part before the doors had opened – but Lydia grinned wickedly at him. "I'm working on not destroying that stereotype for you, Stiles."

"Uh, what?" Scott asked.

"Nothing," Stiles said, grinning like a dope. "Inside joke." Scott shook his head at the two of them. _They keep this up I'm going to have to start making 'get a room' jokes, only Stiles and I sleep in the same room and even from the living room I still have super hearing. Ugh._

Scott stepped up to door. _Well, we used to sleep in the same room._ "Think it'd be okay if I ran away?" he asked.

"Where?" Stiles asked in return.

"Anywhere," he replied. "Derek managed to live for months in the burned out old Hale house. I could live on a mountain and catch fish or something."

"And train a bird and call it Frightful?" Lydia asked. When both boys looked blank she rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Point is, you can't just run off."

"Why not?" Stiles asked.

"Excuse me?" Lydia replied. "He's on the grid. You can't just disappear."

"Maybe if you're a werewolf you can," Stiles said. "Think about it. You guys are faster, stronger, and more deadly than just about anything out in the woods. You could totally rough it beyond old school. No need for school, or credit cards, or taxes, or MTV, or any of the other pointless things people have invented for themselves. You can go _off_ the grid."

"Yeah, great idea," Lydia said. "Only once you're _off_ the grid you can't ever get back on it. No more hanging out at the mall. No more shopping for shoes. No more lacrosse."  
"I don't really care about any of those things," Scott said, his hand still poised for the door handle. "Not really. Not anymore."

"What do the Argents call werewolves that have lost control?" Lydia asked. "Wild. Even Derek still had ties to the world – if that car of his wasn't a mid-life crisis hitting early I don't know what it was. You may not care about that stuff now, but maybe someday you can get some of what you've lost back. But you can't if you don't walk through this door right now, and there's no guarantee that the Argents won't decide to kill you again for going wild."

"The Argents decide to kill him if it happens to be a day ending in 'y,'" Stiles muttered.

"She's right," Scott said, finally grasping the handle. "I'm so not ready for this, but she's right. Letting go like that would be a mistake in the long run." He spared a smile for Lydia. "And you thought you weren't doing a good job keeping me off the edge."

Lydia blushed, tried to brush the comment aside. "I may have discovered some slight talent in that area," she responded, tightly.

"She's cute when you embarrass her," Stiles whispered, as Scott pushed the door open.

"I heard that!"

"You think I didn't mean you to?"

***/\***

Despite having grown up with Scott, Lydia couldn't remember ever having seen his father. Stiles' texted explanation of what was going on had left much to be desired, but when he'd said that Scott was going to need all the support they could give him it hadn't been a decision at all to come to the police station. _I'd do just about anything for him_, Lydia reflected, regarding Scott's strong but hunched back as they walked through the short hall of the police station. Stiles was walked beside her, his shoulder bumping her on every stride, without a doubt purposefully. _Him too_, she thought, sighing internally. _Although if I ever told him he'd probably have me dressing up as a 'naughty maid' or something in under a minute._

Stiles' father was standing by his office door. He gestured to the three of them. "Your father's already here," he said to Scott. "He's in the meeting room. Figured it'd be lighter than an interrogation room."

"Might've been more appropriate," Scott muttered. The sheriff didn't respond, except to cast a sympathetic glance at Scott. He gestured to one of the rooms, pushed the door open, and led the three teenagers inside.

There were two people already inside, standing in the far corner. One was a young woman – _not much older than us_, Lydia thought – and the other a middle-aged man who looked like an older, refined version of Scott. Lydia's first impression was that he was gorgeous – _if this is any indication of what's to come for Scott he's going to do really well over the next twenty years_ – but on second glance there was something indefinably off about Mr. McCall – something in the fabric of his jacket or the quality of the gel in his slick hair that seemed to subtly scream 'cheap.'

Before anyone could issue salutations or introductions, Scott nodded at the young woman. "Who's this, my long lost sister?" he asked.

The young woman answered. "I'm your father's girlfriend, Candy," she said. Her voice carried a thick New Jersey accent, so that 'girlfriend' came out sounding more like 'goilfwend.' _Nail extensions too long and a skirt that tight with no wrinkle? Definitely not wearing underwear,_ Lydia thought. _Tramp._

Scott seemed to be having similar thoughts. "So does that mean you're not my long lost sister?"

"Scott - " the sheriff started, but Mr. McCall waved him off.

"It's okay, sheriff," he said, his eyes round and warm, meeting Scott's gaze. "I understand that Scott is upset. He has a right to be."

"Yeah, let's talk about my rights for a second," Scott said, but again Mr. McCall waved his hands.

"Scott, I've missed years of your life," he said. He indicated the chairs at the table. "Can't we have a moment to catch up a little before we go into all that?"

Scott took a deep breath, pulled back a chair and sat down. Mr. McCall and Candy – whose nose had turned up at Scott's incestuous implication – also slid into chairs, across the table. There was only one chair left. Stiles nodded at it to Lydia, who sat down next to Scott. Stiles and his father remained standing, the sheriff leaning against the wall.

After a second's awkward silence, Mr. McCall laughed. "God, where do we even begin?" he asked. "It's been so long. Look at you! You're a man now. Bet your knocking the ladies dead."

"The only lady in my life whose been knocked dead recently was the one you abandoned five years ago," Scott said, through gritted teeth. "If you want to start somewhere, maybe starting there – at the beginning – would be best."

At Scott's words everyone in the room had paled. Mr. McCall held up hands. "I'm so sorry, Scott," he said. "That was a poor choice of words. I was just trying to lighten the mood. But I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean. Start where?"

"Why did you leave?" Scott asked.

"You mean your mother never told you?" Mr. McCall responded. Scott continued to stare, not blinking or moving. Mr. McCall shook his head. "I didn't know. I'd assumed she would have told you all about it."

"She didn't," Scott said. "So if we're going to be starting a shiny, happy new life together, maybe you should start by filling in that kinda glaring blank."

Mr. McCall nodded slowly. "You're right," he said. He glanced up at the sheriff. "Did Melissa ever talk to you about the divorce?" he asked.

"No," the sheriff said, shortly.

"Pity," he said, although it didn't sound like he was pitying it. "It might have been useful for filling in some of my own blanks about it. Well, Scott, I'll lay it out for you.

"I was a business man, once upon a time. You remember that, right? I was always trying out new things, trying to get new enterprises running. I – well, at the time, I wasn't very good at it, I'm afraid. If even half of my ideas had worked, the jobs and money it would have brought to this town! But unfortunately, each successive opportunity fell through. We had to rely more and more on your mom's paychecks. Thank God we'd inherited the house from your grandparents or I don't know where we'd have even lived.

"Anyway, the stress of supporting the family, and of my failures, finally got to both of us. We had a huge fight – you were away at camp, remember, the one with the canoes? - and she told me that she didn't love me anymore and that she wanted a divorce. At first she said we'd share custody, but then she sued for full custody, no visitation, and the court granted it – who wouldn't have? I was a penniless failure who'd driven away the woman he loved. I wasn't fit to be a father.

"But I'm fit now, Scott," he said, leaning forward. "I've learned a thing or two about business management and I'm finally on my feet. The BMW you saw out front is mine. Candy and I live in a big house in a good part of the city. There are good schools in the area – I checked. I know it's going to be hard, but I want us to be a family."

Mr. McCall was regarding Scott with wide, friendly, inviting eyes. Candy was even smiling. However, there were stony faces around the table otherwise. Both Stiles and the sheriff looked highly skeptical, but Scott looked exactly like a statue. "Can I have a minute to talk to my friends?" he asked, his voice a complete monotone. "Outside?"

"Sure thing, Scott," the sheriff said. "I actually had meant to discuss a few particulars with your father, anyway."

Scott pushed back from the table, stood and walked mechanically out of the meeting room. Lydia and Stiles followed, shutting the door behind them. "What is it?" Stiles asked.

Scott had turned to look at Lydia, who fought the urge to shrink back. _It's like there's no one behind his eyes._ "You wanted to learn about being a werewolf," he said. "In there, could you hear how his heart sped up a bunch of times? That means he was lying."

Lydia gasped. "All of it?" she asked.

Scott shrugged. There was so much tension in his shoulders that Lydia thought if he'd been next to a wall his shrug would have dug a hole in it. "Enough of it," he said. "He's lying about a lot of why the divorce happened. And he was lying when he said he wanted us to be a family."

"So why is he here, then?" Stiles asked.

Scott shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "We'll have to go back in there to find out. But, Lydia," he said, before any of them could move. "I'm going to need your help."

"How so?" Lydia asked.

"I need your claws out as soon as we sit down," Scott said. "And I need you to cut me with them."

"What?" she asked. "Why?"

"Pain helps to stop the transformation," he said. "If I start to lose it, you dig in until you feel me bleed, understand? I can't lose it in the middle of the police station."

Lydia choked back sudden indecision. "Okay," she said. She closed her eyes, raised a hand, and when she opened them claws had sprouted from her finger tips. She turned her hand over and over, examining her claws. "I've never tried to make them come out before," she explained, seeing Stiles' questioning look.

"Well, put them away," Scott said. "We'll only need them out once we're sitting. We don't need the sheriff getting a glimpse of you like that."

"What if he starts making _me_ angry?" Lydia asked.

"Don't listen to him," Scott said. "Just listen to my heartbeat. If it gets too fast that means I'm starting to shift. That's when you come in."

Lydia nodded again. "Okay," she said. Stiles gave her a reassuring smile, which she didn't return. _Too nervous,_ she thought. _Apologize later._

The three re-entered the room. As soon as she was sitting, Lydia concentrated and felt her claws sprout from her fingers again. Instantly, she refocused her attention on Scott's heartbeat. Distantly, not paying attention to the words, she heard the sheriff explaining that he and Mr. McCall had been discussing Scott's mother's affairs. Mr. McCall revealed that he and Candy would be staying at a motel while they 'put the house in order.' At mention of the house, Scott's pace began to quicken. Lydia flexed her claws, heard Scott ask what would be done with the house since his mother had been the sole owner. Scott's father replied that they'd get all of their belongings out and put in on the market – the house was technically his now, but his father would have control over his estate until he turned eighteen, and of course the proceeds from the sale of the house would go into a trust for him. The word 'sale' triggered another quickening of Scott's pace and Lydia began to hear strange sounds coming from deep in his body – creaking, straining, grinding sounds. _He's shifting_, Lydia thought. As casually as possible she reached over and grabbed his leg. Whispering a silent apology to him, she squeezed, her claws biting deep into his skin. He kept shifting. She felt Scott cover her hand with his own and, grimacing, he tightened his grip and shoved downward. She felt one of her claws catch on something solid and scratch. _I'm hitting one of the bones in his leg_, she thought. _Thank God for a werewolf's constitution because I feel like without it, I'd be sick right now._

Sick or not, Scott stopped shifting. He nodded an almost imperceptible thanks to her and removed his hand from hers, wiping the blood she'd drawn off on his pant leg. Slowly, trying not to cause any more pain than she already had, Lydia withdrew her fingers – now sans claws – from Scott's leg. By the time they were out the wound had already healed over.

***/\***

Once the meeting was over – Mr. McCall and his girlfriend, _cough, floozy_, saying they'd retire to their motel but they'd take Scott out to dinner tomorrow to start going to through the house – Stiles went to leave with Scott and Lydia, but his father grabbed his arm. "I'd like you to stay for a minute," he said.

Stiles nodded at Scott and Lydia. "Be out in a minute," he said, and the two departed, leaving Stiles and his father alone in the meeting room. "What's up, Dad?"

The sheriff looked deeply troubled. "Stiles, I – I just want to make sure you know I love you. You know, right?"

Stiles gaped for a second, then tried to laugh it off. "Of course," he said. "Of course I know that, Dad."

The sheriff looked solemn for a second, then grinned. "Yeah, of course you do," he said. "It's just, seeing that, I wanted to make sure."

Stiles' grin faded. "So, you didn't buy it either, huh," he said.

His father shook his head. "Not really my place to say," he said. "But, yeah, there were parts of the story which were a little too good to be true. I was telling the truth when I said that Melissa never talked to me about the divorce. They filed under 'irreconcilable differences' and he forfeited, among other things, all rights to property and to Scott; I checked the paperwork first thing this morning. There's nothing that directly says he's no good, but..."

"Why give everything up completely?" Stiles asked. "Yeah, it's tough to swallow. What about all that stuff about failed businesses?"

"True enough," the sheriff replied. "I guess you were too young to remember. His biggest attempt was a factory for manufacturing buttons for mens' shirts. He'd hired nearly three hundred people before the thing fell through – the premises weren't up to code, he hadn't bothered to obtain a half-dozen licenses and permits necessary to run a business in this state, and he had no insurance. The few companies he'd contracted decided to go elsewhere and he was left with a large, nearly worthless piece of industrial property. Wound up selling it for a quarter of what he purchased it for. I probably have better business sense than he did."

"But now he's a success."

"Yeah," the sheriff said. "I'm going to do some inquiring into that, I think. Purely for propriety's sake."

Stiles nodded. "You know how much I hate it when things are improper."

The sheriff grinned at his son again. "You're a rascal," he said. "But you're my rascal. I love you, son."

Stiles nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I love you too, Dad."

He parted ways with his father at the door to the station, promising that he and Scott would put something together for dinner. Outside the station he found Lydia and Scott in deep conversation. He joined them. "Well, my father thinks your Dad's rotten, too. At least if there's a crime here we can actually root for him to solve it this time."

Scott shook his head. "I just don't get it," he said. "There's no way my father knows I'm a werewolf. Mom didn't even know."

"Are you sure of that?" Lydia asked. Scott shrugged, helplessly. "Maybe you're overthinking this," she said.

Scott quirked an eyebrow. "No one has ever accused me of that before," he said.

Lydia smiled, sardonically. "I'm just saying, maybe this doesn't have to do with werewolves," she said. "Maybe it's something more mundane. Like money."

Scott shook his head. "My mother didn't have money," he said. "All we had was the house. Isn't the housing market really bad right now or something? As in, we're not going to get much money for the house."

"I don't know," Lydia said. "I'm just saying, let's not jump straight to the supernatural conclusion."

"There's always one way to find out," Scott said. "You know, if my dad has some connection to the werewolf scene. We could ask the Argents."

Lydia and Stiles froze for a second. _Buddy's gone off the deep end_, Stiles thought. _Uh, again._ "Am I the only one who appreciates how good an idea that isn't?" he asked.

"No, I'm right there with you," Lydia replied.

"Thanks," he said.

"Don't mention it."

"Scott, the Argents aren't exactly a reputable source," Stiles said to Scott. "Recall the whole 'trying to make it look like I was in cahoots with them to split us apart' thing. You think that if your Dad's part of some elaborate, twisted plan to get to you or whatever, they'll just admit it?"

Scott shook his head. "They're still human," he said. "And Lydia and I are walking lie-detector tests. If we spring it on them just right, their bodies will tell us all we need to know."

"Great," Stiles said. "So now we're willingly going to the Argents'. I'm sure I could have scheduled some elective dental surgery or something that would have been more fun."

***/\***

Allison was sitting with her aunt watching television when her father walked in and shut off the television. "Hey, we were watching that!" Kate said. "Cody was about to break up with Donna."

Chris shook his head. "That was Scott McCall on the phone," he said.

Allison and Kate both tensed instantly. "What's the matter?" Allison asked.

"He wouldn't say," Chris replied, his eyebrows both raised. "He, Lydia and Stiles are on their way here now. He said they wanted to discuss something with us. He even sounded polite. Almost."

"Almost?" Kate sneered.

Chris smirked. "He's still Scott," he confirmed. "But I'm more than a little intrigued, aren't you?"

"Not really," Kate replied. "I'll get my gun."

Chris nodded. "Wise precaution," he said. "But I don't think we'll be needing guns."

"Bullshit," Kate said. "Every time Scott shows up here we wind up remodeling."

Chris' eyebrows finally fell back to their usual height. "True," he replied. He glanced at Allison. "Get your bow, honey."

_'Get your bow, honey,_' Allison thought as she ran quickly upstairs to retrieve her compound bow. _Other girls hear 'get your keys, honey' or 'get the mail, honey.' I get 'get your bow, honey.' _

Kate must have read the look of consternation on Allison's face because when she got back downstairs Kate glanced at the bow and chuckled. "Legolas," she teased, and Allison rolled her eyes.

Two of the other hunters, who Allison recognized as Lee and David, were already in the kitchen when she and Kate entered. Chris nodded at the two of them and they ducked out the back door, pistols in hand. "They're going to keep an eye on the back to make sure we aren't flanked," he explained.

"You know, back in my day, 'getting flanked' meant something completely different," Kate said, with a wink at Allison.

"No it didn't," Chris responded evenly, without looking at his sister. He was checking the magazine of his pistol and, satisfied at its condition, reloaded his gun and replaced it in his waistband.

Five minutes later, the doorbell rang. Chris raised an eyebrow again – _what, did he expect Scott to just come barging in?_ - and he went and opened the door, leading Scott into the kitchen. Chris rejoined Allison and Kate and the three hunters stood staring across at the two werewolves and their friend.

After a moment of awkward silence, Scott spoke. "Only two in the back?" he asked. "I'd feel insulted, but somehow that feels like it'd be really petty of me. Does that seem weird to you?"

"You're the one who called this meeting, Scott," Chris pointed out. "If you came to my house to ask me insulting questions I'll ask you to leave, and if you don't acquiesce than I'll ask again. With my gun."

"I bet that line really gets the missus going," Scott said. When Chris' lip curled and he began to reach for his gun, Scott held up his hands in supplication. "Fine, sorry, couldn't resist. Look, we just wanted to ask you something, on the level. Is my father involved in – you know, all of this?"

Chris frowned. Clearly he hadn't been expecting that. _He's not the only one who wasn't expecting that,_ Allison thought. _What the hell's his father have to do with it anything?_ "Your father?" Chris asked, obviously confused. "You'll have to pardon me, but I didn't think you had one."

Scott grimaced. "Seeing as you have a daughter I kinda figured you knew how that whole process worked," Scott said. "I mean, if not, what I'm about tell you might rock your world a little bit..."

"Enough of the sarcasm," Chris said. "Why are you asking _us_ about your father? Up until today, if you must, I didn't know he was even still alive, much less in the picture."

Scott's face tightened. "He wasn't. In the picture, that is. He's showed up again. Wants custody. You know, of me. But, uh, when he was telling me about why he and my mother split, he was lying the whole time. So I figured maybe he was here about something to do with, you know, werewolves. And you'd know about it." Scott stood for a moment, watching all three Argents gape at him. "It sounded a lot less ridiculous in my head."

Chris shook his head. "I've never seen nor heard of your father, Scott," he said. "If he has any ties to your supernatural background it'd be news to me. Has he given you any indication that he knows what you are?"

Scott frowned at the word choice but ignored it. "No," he said. "He was just lying up and down about why he and my mother split. And, uh, he said he wanted us to be a family. That was a lie too."

Allison quashed instantly the side of her mind that wanted to sigh, _Oh, Scott..._ but a bit lingered, past her control, as she realized that this is what he'd been upset about at the the track the day before. _And you put him down about it_, Allison chided herself. Then she steeled her insides. _Whatever. It could have been anything. It doesn't change anything_.

Chris nodded. "Like I said, Scott," he said. "Your father is a complete unknown to us. If he has anything to do with the supernatural, we're not aware of it."

"He could be lying," Stiles said, nodding at Chris.

"No, he's not," Scott replied. "Super-hearing, remember?"

"He's got years of mental discipline under his belt," Stiles said. "You think he can't regulate heart rate? No, you gotta ask the one without the self control." He turned his gaze on Kate. "Hey, Psycho-Bitch. Ever fucked Scott's dad? Or threatened to kill him? Maybe both at the same time?"

Kate snarled, reached for her gun. "I know which I'm going to do to you," she said.

As Chris and Allison both restrained Kate from retrieving her gun and shooting Stiles, he muttered in response, "And I actually don't, which kind of freaks me out, you know?"

"Obviously this is concerning you, Scott," Chris said, letting go of his writhing sister, who shot him a venomous look, shaking Allison off too and looking sullenly at the werewolves. "I don't like having a worried Alpha on my hands."

"Maybe you should stop waving your guns in my face, then," Scott muttered.

Chris cut past the remark. "I think we'll look into your father," he said.

"I doubt that's necessary," Scott said hastily, his face tightening again. "The last thing I need right now is you waving your guns in _his_ face instead."

"When are you next meeting him?" Chris asked, again cutting past Scott's remark.

"Tomorrow night," Scott said. "We're going out to dinner to discuss what's going to happen with my – my old house."

"Uh, Scott?" Allison asked. All eyes turned to her. "Tomorrow night's the full moon, isn't it?"

The _oh shit_ on Scott's face was palpable. "I didn't even think," he said.

Chris gave him a hard look. "And that's when people start dying," he said. "You can't go."

"I have to go!" Scott said. "This is my home they're talking about. My mother's house. I can't just not show up."

"Yes, you can just not show up," Chris said. "It's quite simple. You're a troubled kid, you decided to go out partying for the night rather than meet your father. Lydia and Stiles can give you an alibi. Allison too if you think it'd help convince anyone."

"Now whose making her sound like a hooker?" Stiles asked Chris. Allison's gaze snapped from Scott to Stiles instantly. _What the hell is he talking about?_ She thought. _If they're going to start pulling the same shit on me that they pull on Kate..._ Stiles noticed her unfriendly gaze and gave her a sneering smile. "Sorry, that one's an inside joke between your father and me. Although if you're the one who was taking pictures during the 'let's make Scott and Lydia paranoid about Stiles' party and photo session, you may have overheard."

Kate actually laughed, and Allison turned betrayed eyes on her aunt. "What?" Kate asked. "Not like you stick up for me, ever. I can't enjoy stupid jokes told by retarded teenagers?"

"Bet you know lots about retarded people. Bet you fuck them all the time. You know, every time you masturbate."

"Enough!" Chris said. "Everyone leaves this room right now except me and Scott. Immediately!"

"We're not leaving him alone with you," Lydia said.

"Yeah, can't say I'm hot about the idea of leaving you alone with an Alpha, bro," Kate added.

Stiles looked ready to pounce with glee as soon as the word 'hot' was out of Kate's mouth. Chris, seeing this, intervened, looking livid. "Immediately!" he roared. Obligingly, Allison, Kate, Stiles, and Lydia hearded into the living room, leaving Scott and Chris staring at each other.

The four of them stood awkwardly in the living room while Scott and Chris began talking. Allison strained but she couldn't make out their voices. "I wish I could hear what they're saying," she said.

"I can hear them just fine," Lydia said, with an arch smile.

"Hey, Kate," Stiles said, and instantly all three women stiffened. _Here it comes,_ Allison thought. _I don't know if I can hold her back myself. Damn it, Stiles, don't you have any sense?_ "I want to apologize. You know, for calling you retarded back there."

Allison, Kate and Lydia all blinked in surprise. "Come again?" Kate asked.

Stiles, with great difficulty, suppressed whatever he'd wanted to say to that phrase. "It's not exactly PC to call someone retarded, but that's not all of it. I know you're not retarded. So, yeah, I'm sorry." He paused, just long enough to make it sound like he was actually apologizing – _he can't possibly be, can he?_ - and then he continued. "You're definitely a sick, sociopathic killer, but not a retarded one."

To Allison's immense relief, her aunt smiled. "Given everything I'd had to take from you bunch I'll take that as a term of endearment."

"It's not," Stiles clarified. "Someday you'll be dead and I'll be very, very glad. I just wanted to make sure we were on the right footing."

"Bet you'll be dead first," Kate said, but again she didn't go for her weapon.

Allison turned her gaze back to Lydia. "How's he taking this thing with his father?" she asked, before she knew what she was doing. _Damn it, you don't care! You _don't_ care!_

Lydia raised a single eyebrow, slowly, and suddenly her expression told Allison that this time _she_ was being called retarded, although not out loud. "How do you _think_ he's taking it?" Lydia asked. "Really, Allison, how do you think he's doing? Between saving your worthless lives, and finding his mother dead, and being rejected again and again by the girl who supposedly loves him, and begging your father to kill him, and having to continuously justify our very _existence_ to you all, and now finding out that his father is an even bigger scumbag than he'd originally thought – _how do you think he's doing?_"

Allison tried to push the knot in her stomach away. "I was just trying to be friendly," she said.

"We're not friends anymore," Lydia said. "Stiles and Scott are my friends. All you are is Psycho-Bitch Junior." She laughed, a look of bitter resentment on her face. "You know what the worst part of it all is? He still loves you."

Allison laughed back, a short, harsh sound. "Right," she said. "He loves me."

"You don't have my senses," Lydia said. "I may not know everything about being a werewolf yet but I know a few things about reading body language, listening to pulses, and smelling pheromones. He lights up every time he sees you. His pace quickens. His breathing gets just the slightest bit shorter. And he starts throwing out pheromones that say "LOVE" and "PROTECT" like crazy."

Allison shook her head. "I don't believe you," she said.

Stiles licked his lips. "Correct me if I'm wrong, because Scott's recollection of the whole Peter Hale thing was a little patchy," he said. "But isn't that how this whole mess between you and Scott started? With those same four stupid little words?"

"She's not stupid and she's not wrong." Scott and Chris were in the doorway. Scott was speaking, looking grave. "We came to an agreement. I'm still going to dinner tomorrow night. I'll make up an excuse to bail early. Chris will be coming with me. And a couple of their men will be with you guys," this part said to Lydia and Stiles, "at the school. If all goes well Chris will make sure I get there too, and everything will be fine."

"What about me?" Kate asked.

"Us?" Allison asked, nudging her aunt in the side.

"Yeah, us," Kate muttered. "Whatever. Where are we in all this?"

"Right here," Chris said. Kate fumed. "You're too volatile," he said to her. Then he turned to Allison. "And you're not ready. You'll both stay here and I'll take Victoria and the other guys. We'll spread everyone out to make sure that if there is an emergency it can be dealt with quickly."

"I don't like this," Stiles said.

"I hate this," Scott clarified, before he could continue. "But if someone doesn't start trusting someone else, we're all going to wind up dying."

Curiously, he said that last part while staring hard at Allison.


	9. The Long Dark Night of Scott McCall

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Another fair warning. This chapter's got quite a bit of sex in it too, which is very explicit. It also includes sexual violence (I was pretty creeped out writing it). If that kind of thing bothers you, I'd recommend not reading any further.

THE LONG DARK NIGHT OF SCOTT MCCALL

Scott pulled at the collar of his shirt. His father had left a message midday – he hadn't answered the phone on purpose – telling him they'd be eating at Farshad's, an Indian restaurant and one of the more expensive and upscale restaurants in the area, and that he'd need to wear something nice. What was left of the getup he'd worn to the formal he'd burned, along with Peter Hale's body; so instead he'd gone out and rented a tuxedo. _I wonder if hoping that I don't completely ruin this one will be a jinx? _He thought, standing outside the restaurant, waiting for Chris to show up. _I wonder if maybe my life is just one big jinx these days. Oh, wah wah, where the hell is that fucking hunter? He's letting me get weepy out here._

After a moment, Chris pulled up and stepped out, himself wearing a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt. He looked down at himself and then at Scott. "I feel suddenly under-dressed," he said. "You neglected to mention that this restaurant had a dress code."

"Sorry, didn't think of it," Scott said, completely devoid of any sincerity. "You know they've been in there waiting for me for twenty minutes now? For people who are super concerned with matters of life and death you're pretty lousy at keeping appointments on time. Your doctor must pull out his own hair."

Chris smiled dryly. "You have no idea."

"So how's this going to work?" Scott asked.

Chris checked his watch and glanced up at the illuminated sign. "You have forty-five minutes," he said. "Might sound like a lot, but small talk can really eat up that time. I suggest you get right to whatever point you need to make quickly. If you're not out by six forty-five PM on the dot, I'm going in and pulling you out by the nape of your neck."

Scott laughed. "I don't suppose you've got a plan for how to explain that," he said.

"I don't care," Chris replied. "He's your father."

Scott nodded. "Right," he said. "Excellent encouragement, by the way. You really know how to get a guy psyched to go find out what evil plan his father is concocting. Don't suppose you're planning to help if he does turn out to be evil, are you?"

"If he turns out to be supernatural I'll put him down," Chris replied. "You can be sure of that."

Scott shook his head, muttered, "there's all kinds of evil, Mr. Argent."

"Not really," Chris replied. He gave Scott one of his hard looks. "There are only a relatively few kinds of 'evil.' There's just plenty of really bad that makes you think its evil."

"And I suppose I'm evil."

"By your nature, yes."

Scott shook his head, trying to head off the sudden headache rushing into the bridge of his nose. "You know what? Never mind. We can save the philosophy lesson for later."

Chris nodded. "You're right," he said. "Tick-tock."

***/\***

"Can't believe your dad benched us," Kate said, pacing in front of Allison, who sat on the Argent family couch. "On a full moon, of all nights!"

"Believe it," Allison said, ducking around her aunt's movements to see the television screen.

"The fucking nerve!" she said. "Pardon my French."

"Because it offends me that you swear, after watching you execute that guy in the woods," Allison said, airly.

"That _werewolf_," Kate corrected, stopping her pacing for a second to stare at Allison.

"Right. Whatever."

"No, not 'right, whatever,'" Kate said. "They're two completely different things."

"Funny, coming from the person who won't stop raving about having sex with a werewolf."

Kate gave her niece a nasty look. "Honey, I know you're still too young and naïve to understand this, but pretty much anything long, hard, and at least vaguely cylindrical will do to get you off. If it's attached to a guy, that's one thing. If it's attached to a werewolf, that's another."

"So do you consider fucking Derek to have been bestiality?" Allison asked, deadpan.

"_What?_" Kate asked. After a second, she laughed. "Don't tell me you're going to start on me now, too."

This time Allison sneered at her aunt. "You're the one who's always trying to make everyone else uncomfortable with all the sex references you make," Allison shot back. "Well, news flash: it doesn't really effect any of us anymore! And here's a little dose of your own medicine. Answer the question."

Kate took a second, then sent her own sneer triumphantly at Allison. "Would you fucking Scott be bestiality?" she asked.

"I didn't fuck Scott," Allison answered. "You're avoiding the question."

"But I bet you wanted to," Kate replied. "Still want to, even. That's okay, honey, it really is. They're almost always like that – strong, physical. So very lickable. You want him and the truth is that you don't _care_ if it'd be bestiality or not. Right?"

Allison pursed her lip. The knot in her stomach was starting to extend further down and she really, _really_ didn't want to go there. "Would you move?" she asked, after a second. "I'm trying to watch something."

***/\***

Taking a deep breath, Scott threaded his way through Fashad's to the table where his father and Candy sat. Both of them had also dressed themselves up in formal wear. On seeing Scott, his father stood, offered him a hand. "Hello, Scott," he said, in a voice that sounded warm. _Warm like hell._ "I'm so glad you could make it tonight." _Lie._

Scott took the hand, resisted the sudden urge to twist his father's arm off. "Thanks," he said, managed to keep from gritting his teeth too much. "Glad I could be here."

"Please. Sit." Scott drew up a chair. "So, what's good here?"

Scott glanced down at the menu. "I've never eaten here," he said. His brow furrowed. "Uh, actually, I've never had Indian food before at all. I don't know what most of these things are."

Scott's father smiled. "That's okay, I thought as much." _Truth._ "There are a lot of things I haven't gotten to show you, Scott. I'm so sorry for that." _Lie_. "We're going to start making up for that. Tonight. I think you should start with the tandoori chicken. It's...light."

Scott shook his head. "I don't like light."

His father smiled. "Okay," he said. _He's reevaluating me._ "Perhaps the lamb samosa, then."

Scott tried to smile. "Perhaps."

Silence lapsed. Scott scanned the menu, but he hadn't been kidding when he'd said he didn't know what most of the things on it were. _Maybe I'll just put my finger down and order whatever it lands on,_ he thought. _I should have asked Lydia about this. I bet she would have known. _Putting down the menu, he ran his eyes over Candy. She wore a light green evening gown and her hair down, so that it was just past her shoulders. It shone and, to Scott, stank of chemicals. His father's hair shone no less, but somehow didn't smell as bad. _He's got more practice at looking the part_.

A waiter breezed by to take their orders. Scott's father ordered for himself and Candy. Scott wound up having to point the item he'd selected out after mispronouncing it three times, which earned him a patronizing glare from the waiter, who disappeared to put their orders in.

Scott's father laid his hands on the table. "I think we should start with something simple," he said. "Like your mother's car, Scott."

Scott's mind flashed out of the restaurant. His mother had brought him along three years ago when she'd decided to get the car. He'd been wearing khaki shorts that were too baggy. _Why the hell do I remember that?_

"You should keep it. It's easy enough to get it retitled in your name."

She'd slapped the bumper and grinned at him and asked if he'd been afraid it would fall off. He'd shaken his head and told her she was lame. But he'd been smiling.

"Of course, we'll have to get you your own insurance that way. That might be tough."

She'd haggled with the car dealer – a guy named Craig who had a way-out-of-date seventies mustache – and they'd gotten the price way down, down lower than her mother had expected. After they'd finished signing the papers Craig had asked his mother out to dinner. Before Scott had been able to make any revolted noises, his mother had said to Craig that she only had room for one man in her life and had taken Scott's hand and they'd gotten ice cream on the way home.

"But it's yours. I know it'll be hard, but you have to start looking at positive things in your life, Scott."

He'd learned to drive in that car, his mother beside him, trying to pretend that she wasn't extremely nervous. He'd had tons of plans with it – he and Stiles had talked about a cross country road trip, although neither of them expected either of their cars to make it all the way. And since he'd met Allison he'd started having other plans – plans involving taking it out into the countryside with her, having a picnic and then bringing her back, laying her down on the backseat, feeling her skin as she giggled as he slid his hands under the waistband of her jeans, feeling her -

Scott shook his head to clear away the images that were nearly overpowering him. "I don't think I want to focus on anything right now," Scott said. "Much less – what'd you say, the positives?"

Scott's father grimaced. "I know, son," he said. "You won't have to focus much. We'll get things wrapped up here and then head back to Cincinnati and you won't have to focus on anything for a few months. We have a nice, big house on a good street – you'll have plenty of space. There's even a park nearby where you can play lacrosse – the sheriff told me you play, right? You'll be away from all the things that have hurt you. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Scott found himself nodding. "It does sound nice," he said, barely aware of the words that were coming out his mouth. _He's still lying,_ Scott thought to himself. _There's no nice big house. No park. No good street, and he certainly doesn't care about the things that have hurt you._

_ So what._

Two simple words in Scott's mind and he felt like his head was about to split. So what. The words that only a champion of giving up would ever let himself think. Did it really matter, in the end, if his father was lying through his teeth about these things? Did it matter if he had some overarching scheme? _None of it really matters, right? I can't stand this shit anymore._

A distant part of Scott's mind was aware that what he was saying to himself was wrong, but he couldn't quite get to that part of his mind. _Maybe this was a bad idea tonight_. "Would you excuse me for a second?" he asked, standing up. "Have to run to the bathroom."

"Don't forget to straighten your tie again afterward!" Scott's father called.

Scott made his way over to the bathroom, pushed the door open and stood leaning heavily against the sink. A second later the door swung open again and Chris Argent was standing in the bathroom with him. "You have twenty-five minutes," he said.

Scott shook his head. "It's not going so well," he replied. "I can't focus. This was a bad idea."

"If you want to leave now," Chris started, indicating the door.

"That's the problem," Scott muttered, barely aware of who he was speaking to. "I want to leave. I just want to leave, you know? Leave it all behind. _But I can't_. Why can't I?"

Chris shook his head. "If you start to lose it I'll shoot you and drag you out of here," he said. "Enough of this, if you want to find anything out, get back out there and talk to the man. I've about had it with - "

"Shh!" Scott said, suddenly, and Chris shut up, looking mutinous.

A bit of Scott's father's conversation back out in the restaurant had punched through Scott's hazy mind. _"Explain to me again why this is a good idea,"_ Candy was saying.

_"Baby, you need to start thinking more long-term,"_ his father replied, his tone of voice completely different. None of the slow, steady, warm tones he was using with Scott; his voice was hard and heavy and fast. _"It's only a week or two in this podunk town, we collect the life insurance money, and then we're home fifty thousand dollars richer than we were when we started. Scott won't be any trouble, either – take him away from his friends, his – ha – family, everything he knows and loves, in the middle of all this? He'll be hooked on something in under a week. We play it up for about a month and then dump him on juvenile hall. By the time he gets out he's an adult and he's not our problem anymore."_

_"I hope you're right," _Candy said, and probably went to say more, but Scott had stopped listening. His eyes had started to glow red and he could feel his claws lengthening.

Chris Argent took notice. He drew his gun and backed slowly away from Scott. "Scott, what just happened? Did you overhear something?"

Scott breathed in heavily, regarded the hunter with annoyed frustration. Slowly, his eyes dimmed back to their natural brown, and his claws receded. "Yes," he said, as soon as he was sure his teeth wouldn't slur his speech.

He reached for the bathroom's door handle. Chris raised his gun again. "Are you sure you're okay to go back out there?" he asked.

"Yes," Scott said, trying to keep his voice under control. He sounded almost robotic, even to himself. "I just need to confirm something."

He swept out of the bathroom, Chris trailing behind. "I'll be watching. Closely. And just to be on the safe side, you've got ten minutes, now."

***/\***

At the school, Lydia, Stiles, and two of the hunters, Lee and Roth, were milling in the basement, not saying anything. Stiles had made a couple of jokes about hunters and 'big-game' that hadn't really been funny, and then had lapsed into nervous silence. _He'll be fine_, Lydia thought. _I should have worn a watch._

"How long?" Lydia asked Stiles.

Stiles picked his cell phone out of his pocket. "'Bout a half hour," he said.

"Settle down," one of the hunters said.

"Settle down?" Stiles asked. "We were talking. Not starting a revolution."

"But I bet you'd like to," the hunter replied. "You and your bitch here."

Lydia could feel Stiles' body stiffen next to her. _Uh oh._ "What did you just call her?"

"What's the matter, deaf?" the other hunter asked, tauntingly. "Maybe that's the problem. All this time you haven't been able to hear the word 'werewolf' clearly."

"Listen, dirtbag," Stiles said. Lydia tugged on his arm and tried to give a furious look to shut him up, but he shrugged her off. "She may be a werewolf, but I can pretty much guarantee she's got a higher IQ than both of you combined. And she's a hell of a lot prettier too. Uh, you know, not that that's saying much, really."

Lydia wanted badly to smile at Stiles, chastise him lightly for embarrassing her (and himself), maybe even lean a little closer because honestly his scent was relaxing, but one of the hunters had stiffened at Stiles' words. "Dirtbag?" he asked. "Is that supposed to be funny? Since I'm black?"

Stiles gaped. "You really managed to stretch that into a race thing?" he asked. "And, hey, wait a minute, you're racist against werewolves, so isn't this a little hypocritical?"

The black hunter – _I think he's Roth_, Lydia thought – pushed off from the wall of the basement. "That's it," he said. "I've had it with this shit."

He began striding over to Stiles. "What are you doing?" the other hunter asked.

"Shutting him up."

Lydia stepped in front of Stiles, feeling her eyes begin to glow. "You're not touching him."

Stiles' voice took on a concerned tone for the first time that night. "Lydia..."

She turned to look at Stiles, saw that concern on his face. "Don't worry," she said. "It'll be – it'll...oh..."

She turned back to the hunters. The second hunter had walked up, and was holding out a large spring of Wolfsbane in front of himself. Lydia saw it, tried to focus, then swooned and fell to her knees. "You didn't really think we'd come down here unprepared?" the white hunter said.

Lydia looked back up; her vision had gotten a little muddy but she could still distinguish the shapes of the hunters. She could hear Stiles, too. "Why, you - " he said, and took a swing at the nearest hunter. The man ducked back to avoid Stiles' punch and countered with a punch to Stiles' ribs which doubled him up. Lydia fell forward to her knees, started trying to crawl away, _anything to put some distance between me and that stupid plant_.

A second later she felt a boot settle on the small of her back and then drive forward, sending her sprawling face first onto the cement floor. The boot rested again on her back and then began to press down until she started to sputter and cough. _I can't see_.

Distantly, she heard a smack and the sound of shattering plastic. "No cell phones," one of the hunters said, and then another punch sounded, skin on skin.

The boot rose and then nudged her in the side, hard, so that she rolled over onto her back. Her eyes swam. She heard another punch land on Stiles but didn't even have the energy left to cringe or cry or yell to him that she was sorry. The boot came crashing down on her face and she blacked out.

***/\***

Scott settled back into his seat. The food hadn't arrived yet. As soon as he saw him walking over, Scott's father had plastered the fake smile back on his face. The warm, inviting smile meant to make everything seem okay. _Oh, yeah, everything's fine, everything's just completely fine_, Scott thought. _Everything's going to be wonderful, isn't it._

"Well, Scott, Candy and I were talking about the car and, if you'd like, we could - "

"What about my mother's life insurance?" Scott asked, completely blunt.

"Beg pardon?" Scott's father asked.

"Life insurance," Scott said, deadpan. "She must have had some."

"Well," Scott's father said, adjusting his tie. "That's a very good question, Scott. And very responsible. I don't know if your mother had a life insurance policy or not, but it's something we'll be looking into over the next couple of days. If it's there, it's probably just a small amount – enough to put her affairs in order, you know."

Scott looked at him with no emotion. _I feel like I'm looking at a ghost._ "How do we handle it?"

Scott's father cleared his throat. "Well, I'd have to be the one to actually handle the money, you being too young and all," he said. "We'll start a joint account in yours and my name. I'll run the account for the next couple of years, and then once you're eighteen, full control will move over to you."

"I want to see all the documents before they're processed or whatever," Scott said.

Scott's father blanched. "Well, I mean – sure, yeah, it's just all very tedious, and you probably wouldn't understand – why are you asking these questions, Scott? Why the sudden interest in life insurance?" He leaned forward, letting a bit of the facade slip.

"I don't know," Scott replied, in a tone he knew his father would read as insincere. "I guess it was just something I thought of."

Scott's father relaxed back in his chair, but he still seemed wary. "Don't let it concern you," he said. "I'll be taking care of everything. We'll make sure the insurance company doesn't cheat you, Scott. You'll get what you deserve."

"And what do I deserve, _Dad?_" Scott burst out.

His father sputtered at the sudden outburst, not to mention the title he'd left neglected for years. Before he could answer, Scott's phone went off. He took it out and looked. A text from Stiles. Just three letters: "SOS."

"Uh," Scott said, still staring at the screen. _Something's going wrong,_ Scott thought. _Real wrong or he'd have called rather than texted. Great. I can handle this. Oh, Jesus, I have to handle this_. "I, uh have to go."

"You have to go?" his father asked, totally perplexed. "Now?"

"Yeah," Scott said, pushing back from the table. He glanced around, trying to come up with an excuse. "Uh, I have – um - " and then, without finishing, he bolted. He didn't stop to see Chris' eyes narrowing as he passed him, out the restaurant door and into the night.

***/\***

Kate's phone rang. Allison looked up from the TV, watched her aunt pull the phone out, open it, and answer. "Hello? Yes. Yeah, Chris. Yeah, of course. On my way." She shut the phone and got up from the couch.

"What's happening?" Allison asked, also popping up.

"Scott just went berserk," Kate replied. "Ran out of the restaurant like a bat out of hell. Chris says he was getting all crazy right beforehand, too. We're going to out to cover the woods."

"Where am I going?" Allison asked, retrieving her bow from next to the couch.

"No where," Kate said. "You're staying here."

"What?" Allison asked. "Why?"

"Holding down the fort," Kate replied. She slid out her handgun, checked the clip, and then put it back in its holster. "Keep your phone close. If we need you, we'll call you."

"Now who's being benched?" she asked.

"Suck it up, sweetheart," Kate replied. She started toward the door, then threw a last comment back over her shoulder. "You're still the junior member around here. That means you get stuck with all the shit jobs at first."

Allison stayed standing until the door clicked shut. Frustrated, she kicked over the small table beside the couch, then fitted an arrow to her bow and set it down on the couch beside her. She sat and turned the TV off, fuming.

***/\***

"No, no problems here, sir," one of the hunters was saying. Stiles' left eye had swollen shut from the beating and it hurt to breathe. _One of my ribs is probably broken._ The hunter nodded, even though the person on the phone couldn't possibly have seen it. _Dumbass_. "We'll be on high alert. We'll let you know if anything changes." The hunter flipped the phone shut and turned to his friend. "That was Argent. The Alpha skipped on him."

The other hunter nodded, smiling in a fashion Stiles didn't like at all. "Of course he did," he said. "Letting an Alpha just do as he pleases on the full moon was pretty stupid. But, that gives us all the time in the world down here, doesn't it?"

"You're not serious," the first hunter said.

"You've heard what Kate has to say about the men," the second one said. "Tell me you haven't been itching to try out one of the chicks. There'll never be a better time."

Stiles blinked, tried to raise himself to a standing position, but found that his legs weren't responding properly._ Jesus, they can't be serious about this_, he thought, as the two hunters eyed Lydia, who was unconscious on the floor, the giant bruise from where one of them had kicked her in the face already receding.

"Besides, way they heal, it's not like anyone will ever know," the second hunter reasoned.

"You guys are fucking incredible," Stiles managed to choke out, feeling blood leak from his mouth as he opened it. "When you're not trying to kill them, you're trying to fuck them. Or do you do both at the same time? Bet that gets you off."

"Hey, look," the first hunter said. "Bitch boy's still awake. You're pretty tough to stay conscious through all that, bitch boy. I might be impressed, if you weren't just a sack of shit on the floor right now."

"You're talking about how easy it'd be to rape an unconscious teenage girl and _I'm_ the sack of shit?" Stiles said. He tried again to push himself to his feet, but the palm of his hand slipped in his own blood and he collapsed back into a sitting position, propped against the wall of the basement. "I may be a virgin, but if I get to be as old as you guys and I'm still not getting any the real way, I sure as hell won't start raping unconscious teenage girls."

"You gonna be a big man, now?" the first hunter asked, wandering back over to Stiles.

"Big man!" Stiles said. "That's it! She has to be unconscious or else she'd laugh at your tiny dicks. That's it, right?"

The hunter grabbed a handful of Stiles' shirt and pulled him up, pressing his back against the basement wall the whole way. "You're trying to get under our skin so we come over and work you over some more and leave her alone, right?" he asked. Stiles could have growled at him himself. The hunter looked over his shoulder, then turned back to Stiles, grinning. "Sorry, isn't gonna work. I'll leave you conscious just long enough for to see a little bit of what we do to your girlfriend over there, and then I'll grant your wish about beating you up some more."

The second hunter was fiddling with Lydia's belt. "Damn contraption," he muttered.

The first hunter, still pinning Stiles to the wall, rolled his eyes. "Just cut it off her, numb nuts," he said.

The second hunter grinned, pulled a hunting knife out of a sheath at his hip. He started to saw at the belt around Lydia's jeans, a shiny, studded thing that was maybe two inches of leather. Stiles tried to move again, but the hunter slammed him back violently against the wall at the slight movement and for a second his eyes went red before coming back into focus. _I think another rib's broken._

"Please," Stiles managed to get out, again feeling blood dripping from his mouth. "Please, don't do this. Don't hurt her. You can do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt her."

The hunter holding him up, who'd been watching the other hunter sawing through Lydia's belt, turned back to look at him. "Unfortunately for you, you gay-ass fag, we don't want you for the same thing we want her for," he said. "But you're right about one thing. We can do whatever we want."

He turned to look back, watching as his compatriot finished cutting through the belt, unbuttoned Lydia's jeans, unzipped them, and began sliding them over her hips, revealing bright red underwear. A very small part of Stiles' brain, the part threatening to go completely insane from what he was seeing, thought, _so not the way I'd hoped to see her underwear for the first time_, while the vast majority of his brain was saying _oh god oh god oh god please don't let this happen_.

The hunter left Lydia's pants around her ankles, then stood up, taking off his jacket and tossing it aside, licking his lips. "It's been a while," he said. "I want to take this nice and slow."

"Would you cut the commentary?" the hunter holding up Stiles said. "Remember there's someone else in line here."

"All right, all right," he said. He looked back down at Lydia, now pantless, and saw her stir. "Uh, Roth?" the hunter asked. "You remember where I put the Wolfsbane?"

"In your jacket – oh, shit, pick it up before she comes to!"

The hunter – _must be Lee_, Stiles thought - scrambled, but got his legs tangled on Lydia's and went down, hard. Roth dropped Stiles, who slid heavily back down the wall, back into his sitting position, but he was too late. Shaking her head, Lydia had already climbed to her feet. Her eyes glowed bright blue. Looking down at the man on the floor, she looked up at Roth and howled, her fangs out, her hair growing in longer, and her fingernails sharpening into claws.

_I wonder if she'll have enough control to stop from killing me once she's done with them,_ Stiles thought, idly, close to blacking out from all the pain. _Oh well. At least she'll be okay, now_.

Stiles heard a noise from behind them. He turned to look. The elevator. _Great_, he thought. _Argent and however many man he had with him to drag Scott over here. And we're outnumbered again._

Roth and Lee clearly thought the same. The two hunters backed up together, smiling at Lydia, who looked completely nonplussed by the elevator.

When the elevator chimed and the doors opened, both hunters' smiles vanished. No men stood in the elevator; instead, the Alpha, with eyes glowing blood red, stood there, and he roared mightily into the dimly lit basement. _Hi ho for text messaging,_ Stiles thought, and blacked out himself.

***/\***

When the elevator doors opened, Scott took in the scene as quickly as he could. Stiles was passing out against the wall, a lot of his blood splattered over his t-shirt and on the floor. The two hunters Chris had assigned to watch Lydia in his absence were standing together on one side of the room, while Lydia, wolfed out and not wearing any pants, was growling menacingly at them.

_Why is she not wearing pants?_ Scott thought. _Okay, figure that out later. Keep Lydia from murdering these two clowns first_.

Lydia lunged for one them, who reached into his belt for a knife. Scott surged forward and caught Lydia mid-lunge by the nape of her neck, and tossed her back against the basement wall, just enough to phase her. The last time they'd fought Scott had already been shot a dozen times with silver bullets and had been slower and weaker; he'd need to be a lot more careful with her tonight, at full strength.

Lydia hit the wall and the paint crackled. She collapsed forward onto her knees and for a second Scott thought he'd thrown her harder than he'd intended and had really hurt her. However, when her face came up, she was still in full Beta mode, and she growled. The growl sounded slurred, though – almost drunk.

As he watched, Lydia began to climb to her feet, then stumbled and collapsed back down. At the same time, Scott also felt a wave of nausea, completely unexpected, wash over him. He turned back to the two hunters, who he'd forgotten. One of them was holding a large sprig of Wolfsbane in front of himself, waving it at the two werewolves. "That's right," he said. "Time to go back to sleep, little bitches. We'll just finish what we started and be on our way."

_What they started_, Scott thought. _Back to sleep. I don't like the sound of that. Guess maybe it's time these geniuses found out that that little bit of Wolfsbane might be enough to knock out a Beta, but it's not nearly enough to take me down._

Scott roared at the two of them, who stumbled back instantly. "It's not working! Get more out!"

"The rest is at the top of the elevator shaft!"

Scott took two lumbering steps toward them. One reached for a knife, the other for a gun. Scott reached out, took hold of their heads in his clawed hands, and bashed them together before either could reach a weapon. The two men slid down to the floor, out of Scott's grasp, unconscious.

Scott turned back to Lydia. She'd shifted back to normal. After confirming that she'd managed to come down out of her blood lust, Scott let himself shift back to normal as well. As he did, the jeans he'd tied quickly around his arm after shifting loosened and fell to the floor. Disregarding them for the moment – Lydia had seen him naked enough that he wasn't bashful about it anymore – he crossed to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm coming out of it," she said. "That Wolfsbane stuff really makes you woozy up close."

"What happened?" Scott asked. "And why aren't you wearing pants?"

Lydia looked down, surprised. Scott noted that she didn't seem embarrassed at the realization. _I think maybe she's lost her shame where I'm concerned now, too_, Scott thought. "Why aren't I wearing any pants?" Lydia asked, examining her legs. "I don't remember. When they knocked me out I was still wearing them. They must have been off when I came to. But why would they..." her eyes widened. "Oh, God. Oh, god, no. But I don't feel anything. You know, down there. That must mean they didn't do anything."

Scott blanched, not wanting to say the next words, feeling the bottom drop out of his own stomach. "Lydia, we heal wounds right away," he said. "If they did do anything you'd already have healed from it."

Lydia's eyes widened further, but before she could say anything, Stiles spoke. "They didn't," he said.

Scott and Lydia both turned. Stiles was in a heap against the wall. In half a second Scott and Lydia were both kneeling next to him. Scott took quick stock of Stiles' injuries. _Bunch of broken bones and probably a concussion_, Scott thought. _He needs the hospital._ "It's all right, Stiles," Scott said. "Just try to relax."

"They didn't get to do it," Stiles said, a little bit of blood running out of the corner of his mouth. "I tried to distract them, get their attention away from her, but it wasn't working and they were going to do it anyway. But they didn't. They didn't."

Lydia picked up Stiles' hand. "It's going to be okay," she said, tears in her eyes. "We're going to get you to a doctor."

"You're going to get him to a doctor," Scott said. He stood. "Are you okay? Has the full moon's influence passed?"

Lydia nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

Scott nodded back. "A sharp shock will do that on full moon night," he said. He grimaced. "Obviously I wouldn't recommend it every full moon."

"You made it sound like you're not coming with us," Lydia said.

Scott nodded at the two unconscious hunters. "I'm bringing them back to the Argents," he said, strong, conflicting emotions barely restrained in his own voice. "They need to die, but there can't be any doubt that we didn't do it ourselves. You get Stiles to the hospital. Call his dad and make something up – you went out for a stroll and got mugged and the guys ran off and you didn't see their faces. Don't even mention me. I'll meet up with you tomorrow."

Scott walked over to the pair of hunters. For an ordinary teenage boy, picking up a pair of grown men would be almost impossible. For Scott the Alpha, it was a piece of cake. With a hunter slung over each soldier, he walked over to the elevator. "Be safe," Lydia said.

Scott turned back to her in the elevator. "This night couldn't get any worse."

***/\***

It'd been about forty five minutes since Kate had left when Allison heard the front door crash open. She popped up off the couch, grabbed her bow, and pointed it instantly in the direction of the door. Slowly, she edged around the corner of the living room's doorway, to see that the front door had been thrown violently open so that one hinge had sprung off.

Slowly, keeping her bow trained in front of her and her senses sharp, Allison circled into the kitchen. There, in the middle of the floor, Scott stood, wearing only a pair of jeans, and finishing dumping an unconscious man on the floor. Another already lay at his feet. _Lee and Roth_, Allison thought. "Scott?" she asked. "What happened?"

"Where's your father?" Scott asked, not turning to look at her, but instead arranging the men on the floor.

"Out," Allison said. "You can deal with me. What happened?"

"I have to have a little chat with your Dad about what privileges his men take with my friends," Scott said. He stepped back from the two men. Allison looked down and gulped. Scott had arranged them with their arms crossed over their chests, funeral-style. "I lost my phone. Will you call him?"

"He called here a little under an hour ago," Allison said. "Said you ran off crazy."

"And he didn't bother to check on Lydia and Stiles," Scott said. "And those two. Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Was it something your father said?" Allison asked, the bow still trained so that the arrow, if let loose, would fly directly into Scott's heart.

"What?" Scott asked.

"The reason you ran off," Allison said. "Did you find out what your father is up to?"

"Yeah," Scott said, slowly, as though he was just remembering that he'd had dinner with his father. "But that's not why I ran off." He laughed. "Isn't that great? I find out that my scum-sucking father only showed up here to collect my mother's life insurance pay out, but the reason I get upset is that a pair of grown men are beating my best friend into a pulp and trying to rape my – well, my sister, for lack of a better term."

"They did _what?_" Allison asked.

"Come on, you heard me," Scott said. "Don't tell me it surprises you."

Allison shook her head, her brow threading. "They were at my twelfth birthday," she said, looking down at the men on the floor. "Lee baked the cake."

"He wasn't thinking about baking cakes tonight," Scott said. He looked down at the two men on the floor, his eyes burning with barely-restrained hate. "I keep asking myself, when is all this going to end? When is it all going to slow down? When can I have something back? When can I just fucking relax? And the answer's clear. Never. This is my life now, until it ends."

He took a step toward Allison. She tensed, drawing the arrow back a fraction of an inch further. Scott looked up at her and the anger flowed instantly and completely out his eyes. "I meant what I said the other day at the track," he said. "I'm done with this. I won't fight back if you shoot me. You needed to know what they did, but if you want to shoot me then just go ahead. Just fucking do it already."

_He's losing it,_ Allison thought. Her mind flashed back on what Kate had told her. _A werewolf who loses control of his emotions is the most dangerous kind._ The young man standing in front of her looked like he'd lost control of everything miles back. _I should put him down now. Before he freaks and hurts someone. For all I know he's not telling the truth about Lee and Roth._

But when she looked at his eyes, she felt the twist in her stomach roar violently, sending palpable pain up her back. Her legs started to shake and her hands began to twitch. Being honest with herself, Allison finally admitted that he was right. She did believe him about Lee and Roth, and more to the point she believed him that he wouldn't fight back. He'd just accept death.

She lowered the bow. Scott looked up at her, his face ashen. "Scott, I - " she began to say, but didn't get a chance to finish. He'd been looking straight into her eyes, which she realized had tears brimming at the edges too, and as soon as she'd started to speak he'd crossed the distance between them in three powerful but not menacing strides. Allison didn't react to his movement and he took her head in his hands, completely gentle, and brought his mouth down to cover hers.

Allison felt nothing but shock for a half second. Then she dropped the bow to the kitchen floor and wound her arms around Scott's neck and the twist in her stomach unraveled itself finally after weeks of tearing her apart, and the feeling of release in her gut spread all the way out to her fingers and toes so that suddenly she wasn't made of granite, she was bursting out of the statue she'd made of herself to hide in, and then his hands moved to her back and pressed her closer to him so that her whole body was making contact, rubbing against his own, and she felt his hands go to her shirt and begin to lift it up and she put her own hands up to give him access and then she was kissing him again and they were stumbling toward the stairs.

They reached her room. Scott stepped inside and Allison followed, swinging the door shut, hesitating for a second before turning back to him. "Is this a good idea?" she asked.

"No," Scott admitted. "But I'm through with good ideas. I need this. If you don't, then, you know, given everything that's happened tonight, I'll be gone in a second, and you won't even ever have to see me again. But if you need this too then get over here and kiss me again."

She didn't hesitate this time. Unhooking her bra as she crossed to him, she let it fall to the floor and pressed her bare, already-sweaty chest to his own, and drew his mouth down into another kiss. In another moment Scott's and Allison's jeans joined her bra on the floor and the two of them moved onto the bed, Allison laying down flat on her back with her legs propped to either side, her knees bent, the knot in her stomach now transformed into a wild raging stream of adrenaline and fire that was rushing through every nerve in her body, reminding her of how alive she was, and then Scott was sliding on top of her and she'd dreamed, again if she was honest, about feeling this much of his skin against this much of hers, a particular part of his anatomy tickling her pubic region as it brushed lightly against her, and then he was kissing her. Hungrily, she returned the kiss, feeling her tongue slip inside his mouth and feeling him shudder at it made contact with his own. She looked down. He was stiff as a board, and she was reacting in her own way, feeling an ache between her legs that she'd tried to ignore since she'd met Scott. Now, though, it was stronger than it'd ever been before, and she couldn't have ignored it even if she'd wanted to.

She ran her hands through Scott's sweat-soaked hair, pulled his face down to kiss her neck, and felt as he lined himself up almost involuntarily to enter her. She felt him pressing against her, hard as a rock, and then at her neck she felt something sharp. His fangs traced her skin, not breaking it but playing delicately with it, and she realized, far off, that he'd reached the decision point – either bite her or make love to her. Still with her hands in his hair, Allison realized in a wild second that she would reject neither.

Then the fangs receded and only Scott's lips were on her neck and he shifted his hips and pushed into her and both of their worlds exploded.

***/\***

Scott glanced at the clock beside Allison's bed. Just past one in the morning. Allison stirred next to him, her head on his shoulder, her naked body entwined with his own on top of the wrinkled, and in some places torn, sheets. Scott hadn't shifted once while they'd had sex – he had a few theories developing about why, given that just kissing her in months past had started his transformation – but they'd still been rough on the sheets, pulling and twisting them as they changed positions and collided together and all of the other things they'd been doing. Allison's hair was sweaty but still smooth against the skin of his shoulder and, absentmindedly, he ran his hand through it.

_I'm not a virgin anymore_, he thought, looking down at the quietly slumbering beauty snuggled against him. _Not exactly how I pictured it, but then again nothing's really been as I pictured it since the whole werewolf thing started. I need to stop picturing things. _

He almost didn't notice the sound of a car door slamming out front. For a second, the noise didn't matter to him – _I feel good and nothing's breaking that right now. I get this moment_ – but then he realized what it meant. His eyes widened. "Allison! Your parents are home!"

He gave Allison a slight shake. Her she blinked once at him and then his words registered. Her own eyes flew open. "Oh god!" she said. "They can't catch us like this! They'll kill us!"

"Uh. Literally, in my case," Scott said. "And you left your shirt downstairs, didn't you?"

Her eyes got wider. "I wasn't thinking!"

"Neither was I! Okay," he said, bounding off the bed and throwing on his jeans. "Just throw on everything you were wearing and a new shirt and come downstairs and follow my lead. You took off your shirt to mop up some blood, okay?"

"What? What blood? There's no blood down there, Scott!" Allison asked, beginning to pick up her own clothes and throw them on at top speed. Scott was already halfway out the door, his eyes glowing red as his fangs extended and he sliced into his arm. "Oh. That blood."

"They cut me during the fight, okay? You used your shirt to mop it up and came upstairs to change." She nodded and he shut the door and practically flew down stairs. As soon as he was in the kitchen he grabbed up Allison's discarded shirt and smothered his already-healing arm, soaking it in blood. He tossed the shirt on the table and felt the last of the cut heal just as Chris Argent nosed the door open. A second later Chris entered the kitchen, his gun drawn, to find Scott sitting with his legs crossed at the table, smiling what he'd hoped to be a winning but what turned out to be a dopey smile. "Hello Mr. Argent," he said.

"Scott?" Chris asked. "Why is my front door off one of its hinges?"

_Oh, crap. _"Uh, that's my fault," Scott said. He scratched the back of his head. "Uh, again."

Chris looked around the room, saw that the two men on the floor were breathing, then noticed the shirt and stiffened. "Maybe you'd like to explain why Allison's shirt is covered in blood and sitting on the table, too. Make it a real, real good explanation."

_Oh, double crap. Shoulda figured that'd look bad for other reasons_. "It's my blood," Scott explained. "She just mopped it off and went upstairs to get changed. I got cut fighting your thugs here. The cut had healed fine but I was still all covered in blood."

"So she offered you an article of her clothing to wipe it up?" Kate asked, stepping into the kitchen as well, her gun leveled at Scott.

Allison appeared on the stairs. "It was a ratty old shirt," she said. "I didn't want to ruin one of the towels with all that blood. And I was wearing a camisole underneath so it's not like it was a big deal." She stepped into the kitchen and crossed over to Scott, handing him one of Chris' old shirts. "Here," she said. "I figured you'd be more comfortable if you had a shirt, too."

"Thanks," Scott said.

"Don't mention it," Allison replied. _She's practically glowing_, Scott thought. His gaze traveled back over to her skeptical relatives.

Chris and Kate, both looking flabbergasted at Allison's casual demeanor – _not to mention kindness_, Scott thought sardonically – had lowered their guns. Neither older hunter was putting a weapon away, though. "Back up," Chris said. "You need to explain why you were fighting Lee and Roth in the first place. We swung by the school and no one was there. What the hell happened tonight, Scott?"

The part of Scott's mind that had gone off the deep end since he'd become a werewolf very much wanted to say, _"I fucked your daughter,"_ but he managed to reign that part in. The seriousness of what had brought him to the Argent house in the first place helped. "They attacked Stiles and Lydia. That's why I bolted from the restaurant – I got a text from Stiles that they needed help."

"You expect us to believe that they just up and attacked Stiles and Lydia?" Kate asked.

"They tried to rape Lydia, too," Scott said, his demeanor hardening. _There'll be time to feel good later_, he thought. _Right now I've got to be the Alpha, not the boy_.

Kate laughed. "Come on, junior, even you must see how crazy that is."

Chris shook his head. "It's not crazy," he said.

Kate looked sideways at her brother. "Excuse me?"

Chris holstered his gun and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Lee has had some – uh, difficulties – with women in the past. He assured me that that was all over with, and Roth has never shown any inclination toward misconduct like that."

Scott's eyes narrowed. _Yup, feel good time is officially over_. "Now it's your turn to back up," he said. "'Difficulties?' Is that how you're planning to play down sexual assault? And while we're playing twenty questions, assurances or not, how'd you possibly think it was a good idea to have a man who'd had 'difficulties with women' guard a teenage girl?"

Chris stopped rubbing his nose to glare back at Scott, but after a second he blanched. "Is Lydia okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Scott replied. "A little shaken up, but they didn't actually manage to rape her. They did, however, manage to beat the living hell out of Stiles. He's in the hospital right now."

"How's he?" Chris asked.

Scott's glare deepened. "I don't know," he said.

Kate's brow furrowed. "You mean you didn't go with them?"

"No," Scott said. "I came here. Because we have something to deal with. These two men are dead."

All three Argents started. Their gazes swung to the men lying on the floor, to confirm what Scott could tell just by smell. "Begging your pardon, Scott, but they're still breathing," Chris said, once he'd made sure he was correct.

"For now," Scott said. "But you needed to see that we didn't kill them because it's the full moon and we're werewolves. You've made the decision to kill wolves based on what they are. Well, here's something for you – these men are rapists. Unsuccessful rapists, maybe, but that's hardly the point, and anyway, from what you just said about Lee it sounds like maybe he hasn't always been so unsuccessful. They _are_ something that's evil at its core, and despite Lee's 'assurances' that he'd changed he did it again, which suggests that if you let them off the hook now, they'll just do this again. Allison was even telling me that they were at her twelfth birthday – guess you're lucky she was too young for them then."

"Enough," Chris said. "You've made your point. But we have a code, Scott. We don't kill humans."

"Oh, bull_shit_," Scott said, rolling his whole head instead of just his eyes.

"Hear me out," Chris said. "What we do is necessary because society's way of dealing with problems can't be used to deal with werewolves. What happens if you throw a werewolf in jail? He pulls out the bars and escapes. What Lee and Roth did is a human crime. It can dealt with in a human court."

"Oh, that'd go well," Scott replied. "'Yes, Your Honor, my friend was attacked and almost raped by these two men, because they were guarding her while she prepared to transform into a hairy killing machine for the full moon since she's a _werewolf_. And no, she doesn't have any signs of physical trauma, and didn't have any signs of physical trauma even five minutes after the attack, also since she's a werewolf and we heal fast.' The whole 'innocent until proven guilty' thing kind of works against you when the only 'proof' is the testimony of a pair of teenagers who'll sound crazy telling the truth."

"Point taken," Chris said. "But still, you can't expect us to kill them."

"You expect me to expect you to kill werewolves who are dangerous," Scott said. "I think it follows that I should expect you to kill humans that are dangerous. Unless you're a coward."

Chris bristled. "I'm not a coward!"

Scott jumped to his feet, overturning his chair. "Then don't let them get away with this!" he yelled. "Lydia was victimized once already in the last few months, remember? Being Peter Hale's victim is what got her into this mess in the first place. I gave him what he deserved – don't let them get away with trying to prey on a girl who's done _everything_ in her power to do right since she was made a victim of someone else's senseless violence already!"

Chris clenched a fist. "Damn it, Scott!" he said. "Things aren't this black and white."

Scott laughed angrily. "No, you don't get to have it both ways," he said. "Things can't be black and white where werewolves are concerned and then super-complicated where human issues are concerned. Don't you get it? We overlap. We may have animals inside us, but we're still human. And if those two pathetic excuses for men down there are any estimation, _we all have a little animal inside us_."

Chris regarded Scott with hard expression for several long seconds. "I need to think about all this," he said. "Rest assured they will be confined and guarded until we figure out what to do with them. I can't just arbitrarily make a decision about whether they live or die."

"Still hypocritical, but okay," Scott said. "I'll give you three days. In three days, if you haven't come up with a punishment that Lydia, Stiles, _and_ I all approve of, I'm going to find them, wherever you hide them, and I'm going to kill them. I'll even do it with a gun if it'll convince you I'm not doing it because I'm a werewolf, but whatever – if you decide I have to die for taking out a pair of sadists who beat my best friend to a pulp and tried to rape my sister, then we'll cross that bridge."

Chris nodded. "I don't take threats very well, Scott."

"It's not a threat," Scott replied. "I don't want you to be scared. I don't want you to think I'm trying to intimidate you. I'm just telling you how things are. You have it in your power now to prevent this from turning into a war. Please. Think fast."

Chris nodded again. "You're starting to sound like a real Alpha," he said. He shook his head. "I don't know that that's a good sign. But I certainly have some thinking to do. I'm going to go call a couple of our men to come over and help get Lee and Roth into lockdown."

He left the room, pulling his cell phone out. Before Allison could say something, Kate sauntered over and picked up her shirt. "Funny that the blood on the shirt is still wet, if they cut you in a fight when you showed up after leaving the restaurant," she said, turning the shirt over in her hands. "Then again, it's kind of funny that you left the restaurant to go rescue your little friend hours ago, but if you managed to stop them from raping her either they were the slowest rapists in history or you have some time unaccounted for tonight. Oh, and your fly's half down, by the way."

She tossed the shirt back onto the table and sauntered back toward the stairs, but she stopped to look her niece in the face. She grinned a wicked grin. "Just remember, I warned you that it'd spoil regular men." She kept going, up the stairs and out of sight.

Allison glanced around to make sure no one was in sight and took hold of Scott's hand, pulling him out the front door and onto the lawn, away from her parents and Kate's potentially prying eyes. "I guess maybe we should talk," she said, drawing him over to a tree, shaded from the bright light of the full moon.

"Yeah," Scott said. "Yeah, that'd probably be a good idea."

"Would you really kill them?" Allison blurted.

"The two in there?" Scott asked. Allison nodded. "Absolutely. Maybe. I don't know. I've never killed someone before, except Peter, and then if I hadn't killed him, he'd - "

"He'd have killed me," Allison finished. "You kind of have a way of making me eat my words. I say I don't believe you just wanted to protect me, then you go and save my life in the most direct way possible. I say I'm through with you, then we make love."

Scott chuckled. "I never really liked the phrase 'make love,'" he admitted. "Not 'cause it's sappy romantic or anything. It just seemed kind of unnecessary, if you take it literally. You don't 'make' love. Either it's there or it isn't."

Scott could tell that his tone worried Allison. "It is there, right Scott?" she asked.

He regarded that worried look for a second. _Gonna have to be delicate with this._ "Yeah," he said. She relaxed visibly. _Maybe too soon for that, dear._ "Yeah, it's there. It's been there this whole time, I just haven't been able to be honest about it because it hurt too much. It still hurts."

"Why?" Allison asked, her eyes wide again.

"Because of what you said that night with Peter," Scott said. "No, don't apologize again," he said, holding up his hands when he saw Allison give him an exasperated look and open her mouth. "It's not a matter of apologizing. The problem is that, yeah, when we were saying things were over between us, we were lying to ourselves, not to mention to each other and everyone else. I don't think we really fooled any of them, FYI – even Kate was on to us back there."

"She's more perceptive than you might think," Allison muttered.

"Love wasn't the problem," Scott continued. "Trust was. Deep down, you didn't mean it when you said you didn't love me. But you meant it when you said you didn't trust me. And – as much as what happened earlier would be a fairy tale if it wasn't true – I still don't trust you completely, either."

"Scott, I - "

"No, stop," Scott said, folding her hands in his and watching as the first tears began to fall. "It's not something you can fix right here, right now, with words. I love you. That's the truth and, God help me, I don't think it can change. But we both have to work back to trust, okay?"

Allison smiled through the tears, a little bittersweet. "Okay," she said.

_She's still shaking._ "Okay, tell you what," Scott said. "Make me promise you something. Anything you want and I have to swear to it. Anything all."

Allison sniffled. "What if it's something that'll make you angry?" she asked.

"Anything," Scott said. "It has to be anything or else the whole point is defeated."

Allison nodded. "Okay. Don't kill them."

"What?" Scott asked.

"Don't kill them," Allison repeated. "Lee and Roth. Even if Dad decides to do nothing or doesn't come up with anything. Don't kill them."

Scott gave her a hard look. "You're asking me _not_ to kill the men who tried to rape Lydia," Scott said. "I'm trying to work out how that's something you really want."

"It's not because of what they did to Lydia," Allison said. "I don't know if I believe in Hell but I kind of hope there is one so they can burn in it for what they did. But it's not about that. It's about what it would do to you."

Scott felt very small, all of a sudden. "I'm already a murderer, Allison," he said.

"No, you're not," she replied, reaching up and laying a hand on Scott's cheek. "And not because Peter was a werewolf. You killed Peter because you had to, to save me. To save all of us. That doesn't make you a murderer. But killing them, justified or not, would. Just so we're clear, I'd still love you, but it might make that trust thing a little harder."

"Not to mention making my chances of living to be able to buy scratch tickets harder," Scott said. "Okay. I understand. And I promise. But I want you to promise me something, too."

Allison nodded. "Anything."

"Don't tell your dad about my promise," Scott said. "All that stuff about it not being a threat aside, if he thinks I'll just back down on the issue if he does nothing it might influence his decision. I'd hope not, but it might. So let him think that he's still trying to prevent a war in figuring out what to do with Lee and Roth."

Allison nodded again. "I can do that."

Scott smiled – a genuine smile – and gave her hands another squeeze. "I really should get to the hospital," he said. "See how Stiles is doing and check in to make sure Lydia knows I'm alive. I'd offer to take you with me, but your family might get a little suspicious."

"Yeah," Allison said. "It's okay. I think maybe we'll need to ease Lydia and Stiles back into having me around, anyway. Trust."

"Right. Trust."

"See you soon," Allison said, laying a quick kiss on Scott's lips. He turned to go, but she held tight to his hands so that he swung his head back around, a quizzical look on his face. There were stars in Allison's eyes and she was smiling widely. "I love you," she said.

He leaned in for another kiss, whispered against her lips, "I love you too."

***/\***

Lydia stood with her head pressed against the wall. _How many hours can they keep a girl waiting like this?_ she thought. A doctor – or at least someone from the hospital, Lydia was past caring – came out of the room they'd stuck Stiles in and told her to wait. "Can I see him yet?" she asked.

"Where's his father?" the man responded.

Lydia rolled his eyes. "He went downstairs to get coffee," she said. "Can I see him?"

The doctor, or whoever he was, gave her a condescending look. "Yes," he said. "He'll be resting. As it turns out there was no concussion, just a couple of contusions. Try not to wake him."

Lydia nodded, resisted the urge to bolt for the door as soon as the doctor was out of her way, and pushed through the door into Stiles' room. He was laying on the hospital bed, a bandage wrapped crookedly around his head, several smaller bandages adorning what Lydia could see of his arms and legs. She could smell the blood from where it was just barley held back under several bandages, but it was still his face that was the hardest to look at. He was swollen in so many places that it was difficult to tell that it was Stiles anymore.

"Oh, Stiles," Lydia said, collapsing heavily – but noiselessly – into a chair next to him. "Why'd you have to go and piss them off like that? We could have avoided all of this if only you'd have learned to hold your tongue. Or if they hadn't taken your comments so seriously. Or, you know, if they hadn't been rapists. Oh, I don't even know what I'm saying right now. Here I am scolding you for getting beaten up for doing nothing at all when you were probably beaten even worse for trying to distract them from me. And the best part is that you can't hear a word of what I'm saying."

The door edged open. "Mr. Stilinski, sorry, I'm sure you wanted to be the first one with Stiles," Lydia said, turning see Stiles' father, only to find Scott standing there instead, wearing his pair of jeans and a plaid shirt she didn't recognize. Lydia bounded out of her seat and flew toward Scott, enveloping him in a giant hug. "Scott!" she said, with emphasis, but still quiet. "Where have you been? Are you okay? What happened at the Argents'?"

Scott held her back at arms' length. "I'm fine," he said. "At the Argents – er, a lot of things happened. I'll tell you later, Stiles' dad is about to walk through the door."

They let go of each other just as the door swung open. Sheriff Stilinski came through holding two paper cups with coffee in them. He nodded on seeing Scott and handed one cup to Lydia. "Scott, good to see you," he said. "We tried reaching you earlier but it kept ringing."

Scott nodded, a little sheepish. "Left my phone in my, er other pants."

"Right," the sheriff said. "Were you with your father and his girlfriend this whole time?"

"What?" Scott asked, probably taking a minute to remember that that was how the crazy night had started. "Oh. No. No, after dinner, I, uh – went to hang out with Allison."

Lydia's head jerked around at the sound of Allison's name. Scott gave an almost imperceptible shrug. The sheriff looked him up and down. "And you changed your clothes," he said.

Scott looked down at himself. _The dinner was at that fancy Indian restaurant_, Lydia remembered. _He wore a suit_. "Yeah," Scott said. "I'm – you know, more comfortable like this. For hanging out."

"Right," the sheriff said again. He wiped at his brow. "You know, Scott, since you're staying with me and kind of my responsibility right now, I should give you a lecture about what you and Allison were doing 'hanging out' that necessitated a change of clothes, but I think under the circumstances we'll let it pass. On account of Stiles being hospitalized and everything."

"Right, Stiles!" Lydia said. "Why don't we give you a few minutes alone with him."

The sheriff nodded at Lydia. "That'd be kind, Lydia, thank you."

Lydia took hold of Scott's arm and dragged him from the room. Once the door shut she turned to him. "You know, you do have Allison's scent all over you."

"Well, I was at her house," Scott said.

Lydia sniffed audibly. "No, it's more than that," she said. "It's _really_ all over you. Did you get into a fight?"

Scott looked, if anything, sheepish. _What the hell?_ "Not exactly," he said, pawing at the ground and – _wait, is he blushing?_

Lydia's eyes widened. "You didn't - "

"We didn't mean for it to happen," Scott said quickly. "I mean, we both _meant_ for it to happen, it's not like I forced her or anything and oh my god you almost got raped tonight and here I am talking about this and making jokes. I'm sorry, that was massively insensitive of me."

Lydia shook her head, the initial surprise already starting to wear off. "It's okay," she said. "I don't know if it's having to get over Peter's attack so quick or having to deal with being a werewolf so recently or what. Maybe the shock just hasn't set it in yet, you know? But I'm doing okay."

"I guess our lifestyle kind of desensitizes you a bit, doesn't it?" Scott asked.

"Maybe," Lydia replied. "Or the wolf itself helps. All I felt towards them when I came to was blind rage and the desire to rip their throats out, and I didn't even know yet that they'd tried to rape me. Are they dead?"

Scott exhaled slowly. "No," he said. "I talked it over with Chris. I gave him three days to find a fitting punishment, and told him I'd kill them if he hasn't come up with something we approve of too."

Lydia arched an eyebrow, leaned against the hospital corridor wall. "You realize that if he decides not to punish them at all they'll be in Uzbekistan within three days, right?"

"Where?" Scott asked.

"Exactly," Lydia replied, dryly.

Scott shook his head. "Yeah, I get that," he said. "But I don't think Chris is going to decide not to punish them. I don't know, but I think I might have gotten through to him just how _human_ their particular brand of evil is. This code thing of theirs is the most important thing to him – he needs it to feel like what he does is moral. But the code doesn't cover things like this, or werewolves like us, for that matter. I don't know, I feel like maybe he can come around, start seeing us as more than animals if we give him time."

"Or," Lydia said. "He'll side with his psycho sister, decide we're more trouble than we're worth, and kill us."

Scott grimaced. "Yeah, or that," he said. He scratched the back of his head. "There's something else. I kind of promised Allison I wouldn't actually kill them."

"Huh?" Lydia asked.

"Afterward," Scott said. "After I told Chris I'd kill them if he didn't come up with something. She made me promise not to kill them, and I made her promise not to tell her father that I wouldn't kill them."

"Huh," Lydia grunted again. "Well, that promise doesn't cover me killing them. Guess it'll all work out."

"Lydia," Scott started to say, but Lydia held up a hand.

"Don't," she said. "Don't get all moral or peaceful or rationalizing. Not when they tried to rape me. Not when they put Stiles in the hospital. If Chris doesn't kill them, I will. I get that you and Allison are trying to patch things up and need to develop trust or whatever – good luck with that by the way, I still vote that she's a bitch – but when it comes down to it, I will kill them."

"Allison is _right_, Lydia," Scott said. "If either of us kills them, we become something else. Not only do they win, we wind up on their level."  
_I can't believe I'm hearing this from him._ "Let's cut the cliches, shall we?" Lydia asked, sharply. "First, they don't 'win.' They set out to rape. They failed to rape. They've 'lost,' actually, and they're going to 'lose' more sometime in the next three days. Second, we don't wind up on their level. Let's say we don't _rape_ them, but just kill them. We may drop a few karma points below Mother Theresa's level, but I think we'll still be higher than them in the long run."

Scott actually smiled, albeit weakly. "Stiles' sense of humor is starting to rub off on you," he said.

"Be serious," Lydia said. "I'll kill them, Scott. And I'll be okay."

"I won't let you do that, Lydia."

Lydia stiffened. "How will you stop me?" she asked. "Fight me? Give me a command? Or maybe you can find some other way to be yet another man trying to take away my power?"

Scott cringed. "No," he said, quietly. "None of those. If you force the issue, I'll be the one to kill them."

Lydia did a double take. "What?" she asked. "What about your promise to Allison?"

"I love Allison," Scott said, with another deep breath. "I, uh, guess maybe I should have admitted that earlier, but there it is now. She made me promise, but she did say that even if I wind up doing it, she'll still love me. It'll make things harder on us, but I have to trust that she'll get over it, maybe even understand why I did it. I have to do it for you. You're my family, Lydia. I, uh," Scott said, blushing again. "I kind of called you my sister to the Argents."

Lydia's eyes widened again. "Oh," she said. _I wish I was better at the feelings thing. I should be saying something right now._

Scott cast his eyes down. "I just wanted you to know that. If it has to go down that way, that's the way it'll go down."

"Want to hear something funny?" Lydia blurted.

Scott looked up, a slight glimmer of quizzical shining through the sadness. "What?" he asked.

"That sister thing makes it really awkward to think about the time I kissed you." Scott smiled. Lydia returned the smile, tears in her eyes, and gave him a hug. "Thanks, brother." She pulled back, glanced at a clock, and yawned deeply, the night's stress-filled, physically strenuous activities finally catching up and hitting her full force all at once. "God, I'm beat. The sun's going to be coming up soon. Whatever the full moon does to us, kind of leaves you almost hung over the next day, huh?"

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "I need to find something to eat before I can even think about sleeping, though. I'm starved."

"Didn't you go to dinner earlier? How'd that go, anyway?"

"Uh..." Scott said, scratching his neck again. "I guess maybe we should back up again..."


	10. A Move to the Dawn

A MOVE TO THE DAWN

After getting some food and sleep, Lydia and Scott met back at the hospital midway into the next day to find Stiles awake. After various hellos and entreaties as to everyone's health, Scott and Lydia pulled up chairs and reconstructed everything about the evening that Stiles hadn't heard. His eyebrows gradually raised until they were done.

"So you and Allison are back together?" he asked.

"Yup," Scott replied, trying not to grin like an idiot.

Stiles shook his head at the grin. "Whatever makes you happy, dude," he said. "I think you'd be better off dating my Jeep. And to be clear, I still hate her. But we kinda saw this coming."

Scott glanced at Lydia, who nodded sheepishly. _Yup. Didn't fool anyone_, Scott thought. "Thanks, man," he said, bumping fists with Stiles. "That was almost encouraging."

Stiles settled back onto his hospital bed. "We can worry about the Argents later," he said. "What are we going to do about your Dad?"

Scott shook his head, looked away. "I haven't had time to really think about it," he replied.

"Well, what do we know?"

"For certain?" Scott asked, sitting back in his own chair. "My Dad and his girlfriend aren't here to help. They just want to collect my mother's life insurance, isolate me emotionally so I go out and get hooked on something, then dump me on juvenile hall. And that's it."

"Any ideas on how to stop them?" Stiles asked.

"Turn them into werewolves and let the Argents kill them?" Lydia asked.

Scott laughed. "Nothing that involves dying, please," he said.

"Is what they're doing legal?" Stiles asked. "It can't be legal, right?"

Stiles and Scott both looked at Lydia. "Why do you always look at me about things like this?" she asked. The two boys kept staring. "Ugh, fine," she said. "Yes, it is legal. So long as they file all the right paperwork, as Scott's guardian his father would have access to all of his assets. He wouldn't even have to disclose what those assets are until he's eighteen."

Stiles snapped his fingers and grinned at Scott. "See, I _told_ you she always wanted to be a lawyer. She's smart, hot, well-spoken, and she can do that whole frigid-like-winter thing that lawyers have to be able to do."

Lydia gave him an annoyed look. "What if I am frigid-like-winter and it isn't an act?" she asked.

Stiles grinned again. "See, she can even bluff."

Lydia finally broke into a smile. "I'd hit you if you weren't already hurt," she said. "Anyway, I always wanted to be an astronaut."

Stiles and Scott looked at each other, then back at Lydia. "Really?" Scott asked, surprise etched across his voice.

Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Really," she replied. "Look, we're getting sidetracked here. Legally, they haven't done anything wrong, so we can't get them there. What does that leave us?"

"Transform in front of them and scare them away?" Stiles asked.

"Again, I don't think the Argents would appreciate it," Scott said. "And right now we really need to stay on their good side."

"What does your father do for work again?" Stiles asked, suddenly, a quizzical look on his face.

"He owns a company," Scott replied. "They make covers for pillows or something. I didn't really pay attention. Why?"

Stiles shook his head. "Not sure," he said. "It's just, my Dad was making a big deal about how your Dad kinda sucked at business. So, what, he moves away from Beacon Hills, with no money and no family, and half a decade later comes back with BMWs and a huge house and a successful company?"

"Weirder things have happened," Scott said. "Us, for instance."

"Okay, look at this way," Stiles said. "If he's really so successful, why bother with this scam?"

Scott opened his mouth, considered, then closed it. Slowly, he nodded. "Okay, you've got me there," he said.

Lydia grunted. "Maybe he's just a money-grubbing asshole?"

Scott shook his head. "No, this is too elaborate for that," he said. "I'm with Stiles, I think something else's going on here."

"Great," Lydia said. "So we've got more digging on daddy to do?"

"Looks like," Scott said. _'Great' is right. I'd be just as happy never seeing him again._ "I'll give him a call and set up a meeting."

"And while you're meeting him, Lydia and I can check out his hotel room, see if we find something suspicious," Stiles said, moving to get up, then coughing and collapsing back onto the pillows.

"Maybe it'd be best if I check that out solo," Lydia said, eying Stiles quizzically.

Stiles grimaced. "Maybe."

***/\***

Allison excused herself from lunch – an awkward affair given how distracted her father obviously was and how angry her mother and aunt clearly were – and jogged upstairs. When she pushed her door open she stifled a shout. Scott was sitting on her bed.

"You have _got_ to stop doing that," she said, walking into the room and quickly shutting the door.

Scott's brow furrowed. "Right," he said. "Sorry. I mean, it's not like I can knock on the front door. Your Dad would probably think I'm trying to knock it down again."

"Point," Allison said. Scott's brow stayed furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"My Dad," Scott said, looking down. "I'm going to meet him again in about an hour. I – I don't know."

Allison crossed the room and sat on the bed next to him. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Scott chuckled, looked up at her with a melancholy expression. "You already told me to just buck up and deal with it, remember?"

Allison backed up instantly. "Scott, that - " she started to say.

"Don't," Scott said, casting his eyes down again. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me."

Allison reached out delicately, grasped Scott's chin, and drew his face back to look at hers. "Don't stop me," she said. "We can't just pretend the last couple of months didn't happen."

Scott smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you're right."

"Anyway, what I was going to say," Allison said, "was that I wish I hadn't acted that way."

"Why did you?" Scott asked. "I mean besides Kate goading you."

Allison shrugged, sighed. "Trying to be tough, I guess," she replied. "That kind of thing is what hunters do. The code has a lot to say about how to act around you guys. It's all 'act tough, show no weakness.' That kind of thing."

"So your code is about being a dick?"

"The problem," Allison said, giving Scott a long look, "is that the code isn't really meant for – well, for you. You're too human."

"We're _all_ still human, Allison," Scott said. "_That's_ the problem with the code."

Allison shook her head. "Not all of you, Scott," she said. "You can't speak for all werewolves. Was Peter still human?"

Scott laid his head in his hands. "Could he have hurt me this much if he was just an animal?" he asked.

Allison wiggled closer to him and put her arms around him. "He wasn't _just_ an animal," she said. "That was the problem. That's the problem with all werewolves – not to mention other creatures – who go rogue."

"Other creatures?" Scott asked, looking up.

"Yeah," Allison said, meeting his gaze. "Turns out there's kind of a lot out there."

"I think people suck enough," Scott muttered. For a second, he buried his face in his hands again, and Allison squeezed. Then – careful not to hurt her or throw her off – Scott stood. "I just don't know what to do about my Dad, that's all. I'm _not_ going with him. Stiles is right, he's got to be dirty somehow. But unless he magically left evidence behind in their hotel for Lydia to find, I don't know how to get it out of him."

Allison stood and walked over to him. "Maybe you need to take a page out of our book," she said.

"You mean blow Candy's brains out in the woods?" Scott asked. He grimaced. "Sorry. Unfair. Probably going to take a while for me to stop doing that."

"I meant," Allison said, cutting past Scott's remark, "that you should lean on him a little. Don't be passive, be aggressive. He's not going to just offer you what you need, so you have to figure out a way to get him to give it to you. Manipulate him."

"All due respect, that one attempt to 'manipulate' us with the pictures was pretty weak," Scott said.

"That was Kate's idea," Allison said.

"Figures."

"The point is that you should put some muscle into him. Lean a little, then a lot, then go for broke. Whatever you think will move him – threats, money, social incentives."

Scott looked around at her. "Or all three."

***/\***

Scott sat on a park bench, trying his best to look agitated. _Shouldn't be so hard_, he thought. _I'm the most mellow werewolf in the world. Or I just repress too much. Maybe I should be a shrink._ When he saw his father approaching across the park, he amped up the agitation, knitting his brow and wringing his hands. _This should do the trick._

He rose to meet his father. "Hello, Scott," his father said, beaming the car-salesman smile. "I was a little curious to hear you wanted to meet here in the park. Reliving some of the good old days? We had a few here."

"What?" Scott asked, letting the angry edge creep into his voice. _No, serious, what's he talking about?_

"Don't you remember?" his father asked. "We used to come here sometimes on the weekend and play frisbee. It was a lot of fun."

"Right," Scott said, nodding. "You always looked bored."

His father blanched. "I wasn't bored," he said, although he sounded completely unconvincing and flat.

"It's okay, that shit's over with," Scott said, trying his best to sound tough. _Go for 'street,'_ he thought. "I'm more concerned with now."

"What do you mean?" his father asked. "And why'd you run out on us last night?"

Scott shook his head. "I had some business to take care of," he said. _Ooh, that one sounded good. I'm so gangsta_. "And that's what I mean, too. Business. Level with me, Dad – your company and their pillow covers didn't buy that BMW."

His father gave him a guarded look. "I'm not sure what you mean, son," he said, evenly. _He's wary._

"I think you know exactly what I mean," Scott said, leaning forward. "You're into something. If we're going to do this whole family thing, I want into it, too."

Scott's father laughed. "What on Earth are you talking about?" he asked.

Scott leaned back. "You want to talk about good old days here? Fine, here are my good old days: none, none, and none. I've had it with this little shit town and its little shit people and its littlest, shittiest opportunities. I don't have the grades to even think about college, and while I'm damn good at lacrosse there's no way I could get discovered and do that much beyond high school. If I stay here I'm going to wind up with a nothing job and a nothing life."

Scott's father's brow was deeply furrowed. "Go on."

"If I go with you, whose to say that I'm not going to wind up with the same nothing life, just in a different place?" Scott asked. His father was nodding his head almost imperceptibly. _Maybe even unconsciously_, Scott thought. "So here's the deal. If you're really the pantywaist you've been pretending to be, I'm out. I'll go find somewhere else to dig out a living. But if you're actually into something good – and no fucking pillow covers – then I'll tag along. You show me the ropes – and I'll be your _partner_."

Scott's father looked at him for a long moment, his face unreadable. _If he doesn't take the bait we'll have to move on to the threatening portion of our afternoon,_ Scott thought. _And I'd really rather it not get that far._ "The pillow covers are real," he said, after a moment. _Ah, shit_. "But they don't have pillows in them."

_Maybe not shit_. "What do they have in them?" Scott asked.

His father didn't respond for a second. Instead, he sat down on the bench, gazed around at the park. "I remember saying a lot of the same things you just said when I first left," he said. "I really did hate it here, you were right about that. Your Mom wasn't half bad in bed – otherwise you'd have never showed up – and it wasn't like I didn't _want_ to be a father. I just couldn't be a failure, and that's all it seemed I could be here. God, I hate this place."

"Me, too," Scott said, sitting down next to him. "So let's take a shit all over this place. What's in the pillow covers?"

His father grinned at him. "If I tell you this, you're in all the way," he said. "There won't be any backing out. Do you understand that?"

"Am I fucking stuttering?" Scott asked, sneering. _Okay, maybe Allison had a point about this being fun._

"That's my boy," his father said, and Scott's stomach turned. _Keep lunch under control,_ he thought. _He's not lying anymore. This is it._ "It's heroin. We import from Canada through Toledo, Ohio, ship it by truck as "feathers" to the plant in Cincinnati, then stuff the pillows and send them out to all corners of the US. Right now, I only 'own' the operation in name – the guy who got me into this is in jail and needs a proxy. I get the car and a bigger cut of the money, but I'm always looking for something to bring in a little extra dough, 'cause honestly this could dry up at any time."

Scott sat, stunned, for a second. _Well, you asked_, some part of his subconscious thought. "That's it?" he asked.

His father nodded. "That's it," he confirmed. "It's not Hollywood, but sure isn't nothing. You in?"

Scott was dazed. "Yeah," he said. He shook his head. "Uh, yes. Yes, I'm in."

"Good," his father said. He punched him the shoulder. "This park really does suck. There really is a park not too far from the house in Cinncinati where chicks go to sunbathe. We'll be sure to hit it when we get back. First thing. What do you say?"

"What about Candy?" Scott asked.

"Ah, she's just the flavor of the week," his father replied. He grinned. "Bad pun, right? But serious, I just figured everyone'd think I was more stable if I showed up with a girlfriend, and what Candy and I do at night makes her the closest candidate. But she's nothing, really. So what do you say to the park?"

"Sounds good," Scott said. "But, uh, that business from the other night? I'm not quite done with it. Got a few loose ends to tie up. Then maybe we can get going."

"_That_ sounds good," Scott's father said. "I didn't miss this disphit town. But, you know," he said, looking at Scott with some genuine surprise, "I think I missed you. Didn't even know it. How about that?"

Scott shook his head. _I really wish he was still lying, at least a little_, he thought. "Yeah, how about that," he said. He rose from the bench. "I'll call you later and we'll set something up to finalize all the details. Okay?"

"Sure thing, son," Scott's father said, standing too. He offered a hand, which Scott shook. _Ten minutes ago I'd have been tempted to rip his arm off_, he thought. _Guess maybe I'll be doing worse._ "It's good to have you back with me."

Scott nodded and turned on a heel. He could hear his father's heartbeat receding, then a sudden change in pitch and tone signaled that he'd gotten into his car. Once Scott was sure he was out of sight, he reached under his shirt and removed the microphone – the same one they'd used to bug Kate's car. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the sheriff's number. "Sheriff Stilinski?" he said into the phone once the sheriff picked up. "I have something I think you'll want to listen to."

***/\***

Only a few minutes later, Allison came down the stairs again in search of a snack, to find her father sitting at the kitchen table. He was nodding to himself. "Get your bow, honey," he said, without looking at her. "I hope you're not going to need it, but we need to be prepared."

Allison's blood ran cold. "Why?" she asked. _Not now!_ she screamed in her head. _Don't ruin this already!_

"I'm calling Scott," Chris replied. "I've come to a decision. We're going to have a trial of sorts, let Lee and Roth speak for themselves. And then we'll pass judgment. I figure Scott and Lydia will want to be there – need to be there if they're going to be witnesses. Just in case they don't like whatever we decide – like I said, we need to be prepared. If we do this right we can make the right choice here."

Allison shook her head. "We have to do this _today_?" she asked.

Her father finally looked around at her, his eyes incredulous. "Did you have something more important to do?" he asked.

"No," she said. "But Scott - "

She stopped. Her father was still staring. "What about him?"

"He may have something to do," she finished, lamely. "You know, life stuff. He might not like us calling him whenever."

Chris rose out of his chair. "Allison, Scott is an Alpha now," he said, as though Allison didn't know. "These things are what are most important to him. He doesn't have 'life stuff' anymore, at least nothing as important as this. Now go get your bow. I'll call him."

He turned his back. Allison's eyes started to well up. _You still don't get it, not all the way,_ she thought. _This is going to be a disaster._ Nevertheless, she turned on her heel and marched up the stairs. She met Kate on the landing at the top. "What's up?" Kate asked. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"We're going to have a trial for Roth and Lee," Allison replied, mechanically. "Dad thinks there might be trouble with Scott and Lydia – they're invited – so I'm bringing my bow."

Kate grinned. "Excellent, trouble," she said. "Maybe we'll finally get to dispose of the two dogs. Oh, I'm sorry, is that going to make you all glum, now that Scott's your little toy again?"

"He's not my toy," Allison grumbled, turning toward her room to retrieve her bow.

Kate laid a hand on Allison's shoulder. "Trust me, honey, it's much better if you think of them that way. I'll grab my gun, you guys are going to need backup for this."

Twenty minutes later, Chris, Kate, and Allison – all armed – were standing in front of a log cabin on a small stream in the woods. Scott and Lydia both appeared from around the corner of the cabin without a sound, startling the three hunters. _I've got to ask him later how they do that_, Allison thought. _If we all survive this. Maybe we should start planning better dates, too._

Scott looked at the cabin, then back at Chris. "This is where you decided to keep them? Really?"

"Figured it'd be the last place you'd look," Chris replied, shrugging. "I thought about using the old Hale house – never miss a good opportunity for irony, it's one of life's few simple pleasures – but it turns out it's pretty hard to keep someone confined there."

"Well, actually - " Kate started.

"Let's not go down that road, shall we?" Allison interrupted. "We're here. Let's just do this."

Chris nodded, but when he gestured for Lydia and Scott to enter, the two werewolves just stood, regarding him with skeptical expressions, until he finally acquiesced and he and Kate entered first. Allison followed behind them, casting an apologetic look at Scott.

The light inside the cabin was dim. The two accused rapists were bound with chains in the very center of the room, being watched by a pair of other hunters. Chris spoke a couple of words to one of the guards and they both slipped out through the front door, though Allison would have been surprised if they'd truly left. _He'll want the backup on hand_, she thought. _In case Scott and Lydia lose it. They're outnumbered even if you take me out of the equation – and if it comes down to it will I shoot Scott or my father?_ Even thinking those last words took enormous effort from Allison.

Kate circled around to stand behind Lee and Roth. Chris took up a position in front of them. Lydia and Scott also stood in front of them, to Chris' left. Allison circled around to Chris' right, an arrow already drawn against the bowstring. "Lee, Roth, we've come here today to hear what you have to say for yourselves," Chris said. "Scott and Lydia have requested that you die for what you tried to do to her. Now you get a chance to explain in your own words."

Kate chuckled. "Ten bucks we prove them not guilty in under ten minutes."

Chris ignored her, looked directly at Lee. "Lee, did you try to rape Lydia Martin?" he asked.

"No," Lee replied. He grinned a stupid grin. "Trial over? Can we go home now?"

"Not quite yet," Chris said. Allison eyed Scott and Lydia. Neither of the two werewolves had reacted to Kate's provocative statement or to Lee's irreverent tone. Instead, both were watching her father with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. Chris' voice seemed even and calm, but underneath it she could hear the slightest note of stress that gave away the fact that he, too, was aware of just how closely he was being watched. "We have a few more questions to ask. If you didn't try to rape her, how'd she wind up not wearing pants?"

Lee shrugged. "Don't know," he said. "I don't remember her taking off her pants, so I guess I don't know what you're talking about."

"She didn't take off her pants," Chris said. "The allegation is that you did it."

"My mistake," Lee said, slowly, grinning again.

"Maybe you'd like to explain what happened, then," Chris said. "And why Stiles Stilinski is currently in the hospital."

"They got out of control," Lee said. "We put the kid down, and knocked the bitch out with Wolfsbane. Her Alpha showed up and knocked us out. If she lost her pants, musta happened after we were out. End of story."

Chris nodded. "Plausible enough," he said. "How'd they get out of control?"  
"The kid was mouthing off," Lee replied. "He took a swing at me and it went from there."

"Okay," Chris said. "Next point, for Roth – do you know that Scott bolted from the restaurant very suddenly?"

"Yeah," Roth said. "You told us when you called."

"Right, when I called," Chris said. "Do you remember what you said when I called?"

"Uh," Roth said. "I told you everything was normal and okay."

"Right," Chris said. "So I guess Stiles hadn't started the fight yet. Now, I've seen the text message – 'SOS' – and _that_, gentlemen, is what triggered Scott to bolt from the restaurant. I wonder, why would Stiles send an 'SOS' to Scott if nothing had happened yet?"

"Maybe it was like a code word or something," Lee said. "To let the Alpha know he was about to start shit. Come on, boss, isn't that enough of this shit? Just let us go."

"Not yet," Chris said, holding up a hand. The hand just so happened to contain his pistol. "So, okay, let's operate under the assumption that 'SOS' was a code word Stiles was using to alert Scott that trouble was about to start. It would only have taken Scott a few minutes to cross town in his Alpha form, and the trouble itself couldn't have started until after I called you, which was at least three minutes after Scott bolted from the restaurant. So you managed to subdue Lydia with Wolfsbane _and_ cause Stiles' injuries in only a couple of minutes?"

"I guess we went a little hard on the kid," Lee said. "God damn, that's enough. Chris, we're your friends."

"Right now, I'm your leader, not your friend," Chris said, speaking quickly and angrily. "And I need to get to the bottom of this. Did Lydia come to?"

"What?" Lee asked, clearly confused at both Chris' speed and tone.

"Did Lydia wake up before Scott arrived?"

"Yes," Lee said. "Yeah, she did. And she attacked us."

"How'd she come to?"

"I put the Wolfsbane in my jacket. And I took my jacket off. Stupid mistake, I know, but sometimes shit happens."

"And why'd you take your jacket off?"

"It was hot down there," Lee said. "Geez."

"I've been in that basement," Chris said. "For a boiler room, it's definitely, definitely not hot. So let me get this straight. Stiles sends a text to Scott. Scott bolts from the restaurant. I call you and you verify everything's okay. A fight starts. You subdue Lydia with Wolfsbane and practically beat Stiles into a coma. You take off your jacket and Lydia comes out of the Wolfsbane-induced haze enough to attack you. _Then_ the Alpha shows up and knocks you out."

"Maybe he's a slow Alpha!"

"And _why_ didn't you call me once you'd subdued Lydia and Stiles?" Chris asked. "You know that's procedure."

Lee looked furious. "Like you said! There wasn't enough time! It all happened fast!"

"But you just said Scott must be a slow Alpha. Which is it?"

"I don't know! Both!"

Chris looked at Roth, raised his gun at him. "Answer me right now," he said. "How'd the fight start?"

"The kid took a swing at me," Roth replied immediately.

Chris was staring daggers into the man. "At the beginning of this conversation, Lee said the kid took a swing at _him_. Which is it?"

"Uh," Roth said. "No, it was me."

"Was Lee wrong?"

"He took a swing at both of us. You know."

"I don't know. So he attacked both of you, but you still managed to subdue Lydia with Wolfsbane."

"I subdued the kid. Lee put down the bitch."

"After he attacked both of you? That's good work."

"We're good. You trained us."

"But then Lee took off his jacket and accidentally discarded it."

"Simple mistake. Dumb, but simple."

"And what," Chris said, cocking the hammer of the gun, "do you suppose Lee was thinking, taking off his jacket, with a teenage girl prone at his feet and the knowledge that I wouldn't be coming to interrupt any time soon?"

Roth sneered. "I don't know."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know. Some shit. Nothing important."

"Why didn't you call me? He had enough time to say some stupid shit, but you didn't have enough time to call me to advise me of your change of situation?"

"I don't know!"

"How'd she wind up without any pants on? Why'd you beat Stiles so badly? How could it have taken so long for Scott to get there? Why would Lee take off his jacket in a basement that's usually about forty degrees?"

"I don't know! I don't know!"

"Save it," Lee said, looking sideways at Roth. "He's clearly siding with them anyway. Son of a bitch has become a dog lover."

"Save the epithets," Chris said, lowering his gun. "They're not going to goad me. I'd tell you that you know better than to try, but I'm left questioning just what you know better than. Answer me this, Lee: if given an opportunity, would you rape a teenage girl?"

"Absolutely not," he said. "We've talked about that stuff, Chris. You know I'm done with that."

"We have talked about that," Chris said. "Now, answer me this: would you rape a werewolf?"

Lee blanched, didn't respond. "The silence is deafening, Lee," Chris said.

Lee shook his head, finally seemed to snap. "Fine, you want to hear the answer?" he asked. Roth tried to shush him, but Lee just gave him a contemptuous look. "Yeah, I'd fuck that thing over there. It's like Kate says, a few minutes of fun, but then you have to put them down. And you can't rape a _thing_ like that."

Kate was definitely not chuckling anymore. Allison couldn't read her expression, but she could detect a very small, slight facial twitch. Looking closer, Allison realized she'd never seen the expression on Kate's face before; the woman standing behind the two bound hunters practically didn't resemble the aunt she knew.

Chris nodded. "I was hoping that one of you would break down and admit the truth," he said. He turned, walked over to one of the windows, picked something up and carried it over. It was a belt. "This is the belt Lydia was wearing that night. I found it myself in the basement. It was cut off of her. A werewolf's claws would have sliced through it like butter, but this clearly was sawed at. You were the only one with a knife down there, Lee. Now, I'll ask one more time. Did you try to rape Lydia Martin?"

"I'm through explaining shit to you," Lee said, and spat on the ground between himself and Chris.

Chris nodded. He replaced his gun in his belt. "Then that's that," he said. He turned to Scott and Lydia. "I told you before. I can't kill them. I can promise you that they'll spend the rest of their lives in a very dark, very lonely hole in the ground, away from everything. We have methods of containment that are – well, a little draconian, but applicable here."

Scott shook his head. "That's not good enough," he said, eying Lydia. He nodded at Lee. "That one, at least, dies. No matter who does it."

Allison felt her breath catch.

To her surprise, her father nodded again. "I figured as much," he said. "I've given this careful consideration. You asked me once, Scott, if I thought werewolves can ever have a good reason to kill people. I think this is just such a situation." He looked down at the bound forms of Roth and Lee with a mingling group of emotions on his face – disappointment, of all things, seemed chief among them. "I would kill them myself, but the code forbids it. But, this time, I will allow you to carry out the execution. I understand full well that you are not killing because you are werewolves – you managed to sit through that charade without taking provocation, which, I have to admit, was something of a test itself – and this will not be held against you by our kind. I give you my word."

Chris bowed his head and stepped back. Scott looked utterly bewildered. _Neither of us saw this coming_, Allison thought. She saw Scott's claws extend. _Oh, Scott. Please don't do this. Even with his blessing, please don't do this. You promised._

Scott stepped up to the two men, looking down at his claws as though he were seeing them for the first time. Lydia stepped up next to him, her own claws sprouting. For a second both of them stood there. Then, slowly, Scott raised his hand until it was poised over his head for a killing strike. There it stayed, much longer than necessary. It started to tremble, then shake, then shake violently, until finally he lowered it. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, Lydia, but I can't do it. I keep coming back to that night in the Argents' kitchen. We're not killers. Even now, I know I'm not, and I can't be because then I wouldn't be me anymore."

"It's okay," Lydia replied, her voice betraying barely-maintained calm. "I said I could do it, Scott, remember?"

"No, you can't," Scott said. "I'm not going to stop you this time, Lydia. But I don't have to. You're not a killer, either. I love you – you're my sister – and I know you're not a killer."

Lydia also began to raise her clawed hand, but she didn't even get it all the way up over her head before she was overcome by trembling sobs. She collapsed sideways against Scott, who wrapped his arms around her. Through her sobs, she spoke. "But they have to die."

"Yeah," Scott said. "And someday they will."

"Yeah," Kate echoed, although her voice sounded far off and alien. "Today."

She pointed her gun at the back of Lee's head and pulled the trigger. His face exploded forward and he slumped down. Roth had just enough time to look down at his fallen comrade and start to say Kate's name before Kate turned her gun on him and pulled the trigger, splattering his brains all over the cabin floor as well.

There was a very slight echo of the gunshot in the cabin. All were left staring at Kate. Allison opened her mouth and the only words she could think came spilling out. "Uh, what?"

Kate holstered her gun. She was visibly trying to bring her emotions under control, but Allison couldn't even begin to guess what was going through her aunt's mind. _It really is like she's a completely different person_, she thought. _What the hell is this?_ "Like the girl said, these two deserve to die," she said. "You know how I feel about things like that. Keep it simple. If he deserves to die, he dies."

Chris, of all of them, looked the most shocked. "Kate, we _don't_ kill humans!" he said, once he'd recovered enough to speak. "We went over this _thoroughly_ after I found out about your role in the Hale fire."

"Do you really think these two qualified as human?" Kate asked, some of her trademark hardness returning. "Come on, Chris, everyone in this room – well, except them – thought they deserved it. What does it matter if the dogs do it or if I do? Result's the same."

"That's not the point," Chris said.

"So what's the point?" Kate asked. "That we're better than doing what we think is the right thing? How does that make sense?"

"You're twisting it around," Chris said.

"No, _you're_ twisting it around," Kate replied. "I'm straightening it out. They deserve to die. They're dead. I've just about had it with you, brother."

She headed for the door. "Kate, wait," Chris said, following her out, leaving Scott, Lydia, and Allison standing in the cabin with the two dead hunters.

Allison walked up to join Scott and Lydia in front of the two fresh corpses. "Anyone else still completely confused about that?" Allison asked.

"She's _your_ aunt," Lydia pointed out, a little haughtily.

"Not really," Allison said, looking at all the blood. She realized both Scott and Lydia had started. "I mean, yeah, she is my aunt, but she wasn't _acting_ like the Aunt Kate I know. Until that last bit, but even that was off."

"You know, I have wondered, now and again, why your aunt is the way she is," Scott said, also staring at the blood of the executed hunters. "I think maybe we got a little closer to whatever it is with all this."

"What do you mean?" Allison asked.

"I thought her problem was with werewolves," Scott said. "You know, I think it still is, to a certain extent. But I think her _real_ problem is with men."

"You don't think – I mean, that Kate was - "

Scott held up his hands. "I don't know," he said. "I'm just saying. As soon as she realized that they did try to rape Lydia, it messed with her head big time. As for why – well, we may never know that."

"Guys?" Lydia asked. Allison and Scott looked up from the pooling blood to the redhead. "Two people were just executed gangland style right in front of us and we're having a casual conversation."

Scott laughed, without mirth. "Must be Tuesday."

"How'd the thing with your father go?" Allison asked.

"Got everything we needed," Scott said. "He's a drug dealer. Or a drug distributor, I guess would be a better term. I don't know, there's probably some weird term for what he does. He sends heroin out to the people who sell it. I got him to admit it on recording."

"Which is good, seeing as I didn't find squat in their hotel room," Lydia muttered.

"I dropped the recording off at the Sheriff's," Scott said. "My Dad will be in custody by sundown. He's probably going to spend quite a while in jail. Because I'm putting him there."

"You sound sad about it," Allison said. "I thought you were practically ready to tear him apart."

"Guess I got nostalgic," Scott replied. "Miss having a family, you know? It was nice hearing my father genuinely say he missed me. Only took me pretending to be a complete asshole to do it, but still."

Allison took Scott's hand. "Hey," she said. "We're your family now. Remember that."

Scott smiled at her. "Of course," he said. "Listen, I need to get back to the Sheriff's. Lydia, are you - "

"Hospital," she said. "I'll let Stiles know what happened. Call me once the thing with your Dad is done."

Scott nodded, also disappeared through the door in the cabin. Allison went to follow, but Lydia caught her arm. Allison turned to see a determined expression on Lydia's face. "We need to talk," the redheaded werewolf said.

"Sure," Allison said. "I was hoping you'd want to."

"Okay, let me rephrase," Lydia said. "For now, I have something to say to you, which you're going to listen to and understand. If you break his heart again, I'm going to rip yours out and eat it. Got it?"

"Lydia - "

"No," Lydia said. "No explanations. Scott wants to trust you, but Scott would give the whole world a hug sometimes if it was possible. So you need to understand – Scott is _my_ family. Not yours. And if you hurt him again, I will do very bad things to you. Do you understand?"

Allison nodded. _When'd she get so protective?_

Lydia smiled a hostile smile. "Good," she said. "Then run along. I have to go see Stiles, and I doubt he'd be half as pleasant with you as I've been." She too passed through the door and disappeared into the woods, leaving Allison standing alone at the door to the cabin.

***/\***

When Scott pushed into the sheriff's office, Sheriff Stilinski was waiting for him. "We already picked your father up," he said, indicating that Scott sit down in the chair across from his desk. "We'll be shipping him back to Ohio for arraignment tomorrow. Cincinnati PD put some calls in at his 'pillow cover' factory and landed the single largest confiscation of heroin in the history of the United States. Between that and the recorded confession, he's going to be doing a lot of time."

Scott nodded. "I'd like to see him," he said.

The sheriff grimaced. "I don't know that that's a good idea," he said. "He's – well, he's pretty angry. Didn't take him more than a half second to figure out who'd turned him in."

"I figured he'd be angry," Scott said. "There's just something I have to get off my chest before he's gone. I doubt I'll get the chance to speak to him once he's transferred, even if I have to testify at the trial."

The sheriff nodded, stood. "Okay," he said. "But if you don't mind I'm going to observe to make sure it doesn't get out of hand."

Scott nodded, stood as well. "That's fine with me."

The sheriff lead the way to Scott's father. Scott was mildly surprised to find him already in a cell – hours of late-night _Law and Order_ had more prepared him for an interrogation room at this stage – but it made sense. Interrogation wasn't necessary. His father was dead in the water. Upon seeing Scott and the sheriff approach, he stood. For a second his face was completely blank – _took him by surprise I bet_ – but then he broke into an extremely fake relieved expression. "Scott," he said. "Thank God you're here. You can explain to the sheriff that this has all just been a mistake."

Scott shook his head. "You've made a lot of mistakes," he said. "The most recent was coming back, so I guess we'll just call that your biggest. I've just been wondering – would you still have taken the life insurance money?"

"What?" his father asked, the relieved mask slipping as he didn't understand the question.

"If all that 'we'll be partners' stuff had actually panned out, would you have still stolen my mother's fifty thousand dollar life insurance money from me?" Scott asked.

"How did you know - " his father began, but then he stopped. "No," he said. "No, I wouldn't have."

Scott nodded. _He was lying just then_, he thought. He turned to the sheriff. "That's all I needed."

He turned to go, but a strangled cry came from his father behind him. "Why are you doing this to me?" he asked.

Something about the question made Scott stop and turn back to look at him. "Why?" he asked. "I suppose that's a good question. When I went down to the park to meet you today, I had thought about just offering to let you take the money so long as you let me stay. But then I decided something. You know what I decided? That giving up like that might let me keep just living, but just living isn't all I want."

"Scott, I'll let you have the money," his father said, grabbing at the bars and leaning forward as far as possible. "Every dime, right away. You can do whatever you want with it. Just get me out of here."

"Okay, that's enough," the sheriff said. "You're trying to bribe a witness right in front of me. I never credited you with an abundance of brainpower, but that's a whole 'nother level of stupid."

"Besides, it's not his money to bribe me with," Scott replied. "It's mine already."

He turned to go again, only to hear his father again behind him. This time he sounded angry. "You think you can just get away with this, you little shit?" his father asked. "You just stung a lot more people than me. You better watch your back."

Scott turned one final time. "Actually, you're the idiot who trusted the son he barely knew with all the pertinent information about the drug empire you don't even own yourself," he said. "So really it's your fault all this came crashing down. Good luck in prison."

Scott and the sheriff exited the holding area. The sheriff led Scott back down to his office. Once they were sitting again, the sheriff leaned forward. "I don't suppose you want to tell me what that was about."

"Just confirming something," Scott said. "Personal stuff. I wanted to make sure the book was closed on my father. It is. It wouldn't have changed what's going to happen to him if he'd reacted better, but I still needed to know."

The sheriff sat back, shaking his head. "You've handled yourself remarkably well," he said. "I'm very proud of you, Scott. Between you putting your father in jail with dignity and Stiles standing up to those muggers, I'm starting to feel like the least manly man in the house."

Scott grinned. "We could always get you a cape and you could be a superhero."

The sheriff grinned back. "No, thanks," he said. "Listen, about all this though – for now, in light of all this, you're still definitely welcome to stay with us. I can petition the court for temporary custody of you. But, again, in light of how you've handled this – I think I might have been hasty in saying that a judge would deny you a petition for emancipation."

"Really?" Scott asked.

"Really," the sheriff replied. "Between your Mom's savings and the life insurance, your financial situation is decent, and we can probably find you a job without too much fuss." _I had a job,_ Scott thought. _God, I haven't spoken to Dr. Deaton in months. I totally forgot that he was a part of all this too. At some point I've got to get better at this whole Alpha thing._ "I think we could manage a petition for emancipation. If that's what you want."

Scott nodded. "No offense," he said. "I appreciate what you and Stiles have done for me. But I'd like to live in my own house again."

"No offense taken," the sheriff said. "It's my pleasure to know you, Scott. You're a bright, level-headed, and moral young man. You'll always be welcome at the Stilinski house, but it'd also be my pleasure to help you get your own back."

The sheriff reached out a hand. Scott shook it.

***/\***

Lydia pushed into Stiles' hospital room. She opened her mouth to say something, but Stiles shushed her instantly, his eyes glued to the small TV on the wall of the room. She looked over at it and rolled her eyes. "You're not seriously watching Oprah."

"Hunger in Southeast Asia," Stiles said, waving her off. "I'm very socially conscious."

"Come on Stiles," she said, crossing the room and sitting down on his bed. "Turn off the TV."

Stiles grinned bigger than Christmas, picked up the remote, and turned off the TV. "You have no idea how many years I dreamed about you being the one trying to get _my_ attention," he said. "Seriously, there were actual dreams just about that."

"You're _such_ a dweeb."

"No no, you're not spoiling this high," he said. "I feel like I just climbed Mount Olympus and had tea with Zeus and he told me I'm his bro. No amount of sarcasm is going to bring me down."

Lydia punched his arm. "_Such_ a dweeb." Stiles cringed and obviously tried really hard to keep Lydia from seeing his reaction, but she was long past the point where her werewolf senses were a new thing and between the tiny cringe and the tensing of his muscles she could tell she'd hurt him. "Sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Not that bad," Stiles said. "It's only a bruise on the arm. My ribs, on the other hand, those are broken. So don't go cracking any jokes. All it'll take is one hearty belly laugh and I'll probably pass out."

"They really did a number on you," Lydia said, looking over the visible cuts and bruising on Stiles' face. The medication the doctors had given him the night before had done wonders; he was no longer the unrecognizable blob of ground beef he'd been right after the beating.

"Well, that's 'cause they're bad people."

"They _were_ bad people," Lydia said, giving Stiles a significant look.

She felt him stiffen again. "Who?" he asked. "Scott? Chris?"

"No," she said. "And not me, either. Kate killed them."

"_Kate_ did?" Stiles asked. He reached up and rubbed at one of his eyes. "Okay, does that chick just _like_ killing people or something?"

"Scott thinks her real problem is with men. Once she realized that Lee and Roth really did try to rape me, she got funny. Then she killed them. Once I couldn't."

Lydia looked away from Stiles' eyes at that statement. "Hey, what's wrong?" Stiles asked.

"I couldn't do it," Lydia said, tears threatening to well up in her eyes. _Oh fuck tears_, she thought. "I was right there, and I knew what they'd been planning to do to me, and I still couldn't bring myself to do it. Scott was saying all this stuff about me not being a killer, but the bottom line isn't that. It's that I was afraid."

To her surprise, Stiles nodded. "I think killing people's a pretty good thing to be afraid of," he said. "Me? I'm afraid of clowns. How much sense does that make?"

"Stiles," Lydia said, annoyed. "Be serious."

"I am serious," he said. "You know, for me. Like I said, killing people's a good thing to be afraid of. I mean, okay," he said, leaning forward as best he could, "why were you afraid to do it?"

"I don't know," Lydia said. "Maybe I'm just weak."

"Cut the maybes," Stiles said. "What were you feeling?"

"I don't know," Lydia responded. "I just couldn't do it."

"Because it felt _wrong,_" Stiles said. "There's nothing weak about feeling wrong about killing, even about killing those scumbags. It means you're a good person, and not a murderer, because however justified killing them would have been, it would have still been murder."

Lydia wiped a tear away, smiled weakly. "Isn't that what Allison said to Scott?" she asked.

"Well, she might be a bitch, but she isn't necessarily always wrong," Stiles reasoned.

"Speaking of Allison, I told her I'd rip her heart out if she breaks Scott's again," Lydia said, her smile gaining strength.

"Thatta girl," Stiles said, gently. "See? No weakness there. I guess above all else you proved that despite what they were trying to do to you, they didn't change you. That's powerful, too." He reached for Lydia's hand, but on contact she flinched. _Damn it._ Stiles withdrew his hand immediately, as though he'd been burnt. "I'm sorry," he said. "Here we are talking about what they were trying to do to you and I go grabbing at your hand. You probably don't want to be touched right now."

Lydia's voice was very quiet. "I don't want to think about them when you touch me," she said, unable to meet Stiles' eyes.

"Uh," Stiles said, freezing completely. "Um, Lydia, I'm on a ton of drugs right now, so you're gonna maybe have to clarify that last statement so I don't take it wrong. I mean, I'll probably take it wrong anyway, but – um, what do you mean?"

_Now or never. _"Okay, listen," Lydia said. "This is going to sound like a giant cliché, but what you did for me last night – no one's ever done anything like that for me before. And you know, Scott's mentioned a couple of times that he thought there might be something between us, and I don't really know about that or anything else right now, but – well, you make me feel better. I'm kind of taking things one step at a time these days, you know? But there's something I'd like to do."

Stiles' eyes were in danger of disappearing off the top of his head. "You have my full permission to do whatever it is you want to do," he said. "In fact, whatever it is, you can do it twice."

Slowly, careful not to lean on him or put any pressure on any injured areas, Lydia snaked up the bed and pressed her lips gently against Stiles'. She was surprised at first to find his lips so soft – _normal human lips I guess, _she thought. After a second, she drew back. Stiles had the dopiest happy look on his face she'd ever seen. "I take it back," he said. "You can't do that twice."

"What?" Lydia asked. "What are you talking about?"

"You can do that a lot more than twice."

Lydia laughed as she started to lower her face back down to meet Stiles'. "_Such a dweeb._"

***/\***

Allison was sitting on her bed, reading a book, when she heard a tap at her window. Checking to make sure her door was shut, she crossed quickly and opened it. Instead of popping inside, Scott reached out and grabbed her hand. "It's a warm night," he said. Smiling, she let him pull her solidly through the window. She tripped a bit over the ledge but he caught her instantly. _His arms could be made of steel_, she thought, feeling the strong, immovable muscles under his shirt. She stifled a blush.

"What?" Scott asked, guiding her to a sitting position on the gray-blue roof tiles.

"Huh?" Allison replied, as he sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I didn't say anything."

"No, but your scent profile just changed," Scott said. "I – I'm not sure exactly what it is. Some people have very unique pheromones for different things."

Allison's blush got worse. _And with any other boy I'd say thank god it's dark out,_ she thought. _No luck with super-senses werewolf boyfriend._ "You've probably smelled it before," she said. "I was thinking about your arms, and how strong they are, and how good they feel around me..." She trailed off, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"Oh," Scott said. He smiled, sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess I do recognize it, now that you mention it. Guess that was subtle of me, huh?"

"Don't apologize," Allison said. "I need to get used to the fact that whenever my body reacts to you in any way, you can tell."

Scott grimaced. "Is that going to put you off?"

Allison considered. "Maybe sometimes," she said. "I can think of a few ways it'll turn me on, too, though. All things considered, I think our relationship is going to balance itself out."

Scott leaned forward. "How will it turn you on?" he asked.

Allison laughed. "That's all you heard out of that statement, isn't it?"

Scott leaned back again, looked up at the sky. "Maybe I've still got a little normal teenage boy left in me," he said.

Allison reached over, patted him on the shoulder. "I think you do," she said. "And give me some credit there for not making a joke about me having some normal teenage boy in me last night."

Scott blushed too. _I just made a werewolf blush_, Allison thought. _Somehow that feels like an accomplishment._ "Yeah, I guess you did," he said. Suddenly he sat up straight. "Oh my God," he said.

"What?" Allison asked, scanning the ground below them. "My parents?"

"No," Scott said. "Last night."

When he didn't go on, Allison licked her lips in nervous anticipation. "Uh, yeah," she said. "Last night. I kind of figured you didn't forget, but if you did..."

"_We_ forgot," he said. "Protection."

Allison smiled slowly at him. _Typical boy, late to the game._ "Relax," she said. "I'm on the pill. Still wasn't a great idea, but I took a test this morning and it came back negative. Still, we should be – you know – more responsible, next time."

Scott's heart rate slowed down. Allison realized that claws had sprouted on his hands; the claws shrank back into his finger tips. _Have to be careful with his anxiety level_, Allison thought. She laughed to herself, mirthlessly. _Yeah. Right. The way the last couple of months have gone, I doubt his anxiety level will ever get below 'insane.'_ "I wasn't thinking last night," he said.

Allison looked away. "I seem to remember you saying something about it being a bad idea," she said.

"I thought it was," Scott replied. He managed to catch her gaze. "I was trying so hard to hate you. You hurt me so bad – I don't think you could have if I didn't love you – but try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to hate you. It wore me out, trying. But last night wasn't a bad idea. It's putting us back on track. I mean, from now on we'll have to be responsible and stuff, but you know, _we get to have that._ I didn't think we would. Truth be told, I kind of thought your family would wind up killing me before we ever got a chance."

"They still might," Allison said, biting her lip. "Kill you, you know."

Scott sight, leaned back so that he was laying flat on the slanted roof. Laying down caused all his clothes to drape tight over his body, and Allison felt another hot twinge that Scott either didn't notice or ignored. "Yeah, I know," he replied. "The rapists are dealt with, and my father's gone packing, but the simple problem of werewolves and hunters is still here. We haven't really _solved_ much, have we?"

"Maybe there is no solution," Allison said. "Or maybe this is the closest thing to a solution there is. Tense mutual respect and distrust."

Scott shook his head. "I don't believe that," he said.

There was a pause, Allison expecting him to say more. When he didn't, she spoke. "That's it? Just, 'I don't believe that,' and you leave it at that?"

"What else is there to say?" he asked back. "I don't believe that this arrangement between your family and me and Lydia is the best it can be. Think about the Hales – some of them married humans, humans who loved werewolves and who were loved back by werewolves, and they made it _work_."

"Until Kate killed them," Allison said, a note of defeat in her voice.

"Until Kate killed them," Scott agreed. "But that makes it all the more necessary that _our_ two families try. If we can make this work between our two families, then we could set a trend for all the other hunters and werewolves out there. They could see that we really can get along."

Allison grinned. "You really have turned into quite the idealist."

"It's worth being one," Scott said. "Having something to believe in – like you've said, the most dangerous thing in the world is for a werewolf is to go completely wild. Having something to believe in, goals to achieve, standards to adhere to – it helps keep me human."

"What if it doesn't work?"

Scott grinned, taking Allison by surprise. He leaned over closer to her. _Don't need werewolf senses to tell what's on his mind now,_ Allison thought. As he leaned over, his face caught the blue light of the just-beginning-to-wax, nearly full moon, and for a second his skin almost seemed to glow. "If it doesn't work," he said, bringing his lips down to meet hers, "I always have other things to help keep me grounded."

***/\***

A/N : So. That ends what I've come to think of as "Part 1" of this story. It might be a week or two before I start updating for "Part 2" - which will continue as new chapters on this story, not a separate story, because the whole thing will be draw in together. The next Part is going to be a little more "external"; I'll be introducing a few new, original characters and exploring the greater mythology of the story.


	11. Smoke on the Water

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry it's taken so long for this to be posted (more on that after story-time). As per usual warnings, this chapter contains semi-graphic sexuality. Honestly, this chapter is mostly fluff-driven sex, but I promise it's all important to where the story is going. Speaking of which – on to the story.

SMOKE ON THE WATER

Scott glanced at the sky. He hadn't worn a watch, as transforming with a watch on usually destroyed it, and he hadn't brought his phone, because he'd promised himself (and Allison) that nothing would interrupt them. The downfall was that he didn't have any idea what time it was, but judging by the place of the sun in the sky, it was around noon. She'd be there soon.

His eyes tracked back down to the blanket he'd spread over the grass in the small clearing. He'd found the clearing, and the dirt path that lead to it some weeks back while running the woods at night; at the time he hadn't thought of this particular use for it, but when Allison had jokingly suggested a picnic, he'd thought of it immediately and said yes. Which was why there was a basket with sandwiches, salad, and beverages sitting on the blanket.

Scott was about to glance at the sky again when he heard a dull roar. He focused in on the sound – still a mile or two away – and ascertained that it'd turned off the highway and was on its way up the dirt path. It didn't sound like Allison's car; it was louder and more powerful. Scott arched an eyebrow at this development, felt his claws ready to pop if it became necessary.

It didn't. While it was difficult to pick out, he could definitely hear Allison's distinct heartbeat apart from the motor. There was no one with her and while her heart was beating faster than normal, it didn't seem as out of control as it could get when she was upset, so Scott relaxed. Mostly. _Gotta work on this 'relaxation' thing_, he thought. _Didn't used to be a problem. Then get, avoiding homicide didn't used to be a problem, either._

A little under a minute later, he saw the motorcycle pull around the corner of the dirt path. It skidded to a halt, and the figure astride it – decked out in form-fitting black and bright pink leather, with a black, shaded helmet – climbed off. Allison lifted her helmet off her head, shaking her hair out. Scott's eyes swept up and down. _Damn_, he thought. _Leather. Such a good idea._

Allison grinned at this, twirled around in a circle, then stepped to the side and pointed to the bike. "You like?" she asked.

"Yeah," Scott said. "And I like the motorcycle too."

She stuck out her tongue. "You are naughty," she said.

Scott smiled back. "Pretty much, yeah," he said. "Where'd you get a motorcycle?"

"Dad," she said. Scott's grin faded a bit. _Hope she doesn't notice. _"Because my training's going so well. He decided I should have something that'd allow me to get around faster. You know, if necessary."

Scott nodded. "Guess that makes sense," he said. _Try to equitable about the whole hunter thing_, he thought.

Allison walked over to the blanket, placing her helmet down on one corner. "I just wanted to show off for you," she said.

"You don't need a motorcycle to show off," Scott said, inclining his head to watch her ass as she straightened back up from bending over.

"Watch yourself," Allison said, her grin spreading. She unzipped the leather jacket, revealing a grey tank-top underneath. _And, unless I'm much mistaken, nothing underneath that,_ Scott thought. _Is there anything more unfair than being an adolescent with super senses?_ "I _am_ still a hunter, you know. I could kick your ass."

Scott chuckled, but without much humor. "Doesn't seem like anyone's had much luck with that in the last couple of months," he said. "But you could always try. As a matter of fact," he said, a devilish look brightening his smile, "I suddenly feel like you'll have to wrestle me to the ground, right now."

"Scott!" Allison said. "You're impossible. I thought we were here for a picnic."

"We are," Scott said, calming down a little and taking as seat on the blanket. "Sorry. It's just, I'm so glad that we finally get to have a little time to ourselves, out where no one can interrupt us. We've earned this."

"I'll say," Allison agreed.

She took a seat next to Scott, who reached for the basket of food. As he did, he noticed a pensive look on Allison's face. "What are you thinking?" Scott asked.

"Huh?" Allison said. "Oh, nothing. Just – you know, what's our future going to be like. We're never really going to be able to get away from all this, are we? For moments where it's just the two of us."

Scott stopped reaching for the food and settled back. "We're here now, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Allison said, reaching for his hand. "And this is really sweet. But are we ever going to really _get away_? Have our own place, make our own rules, not have to deal with life and death werewolf/hunter bullshit?"

Scott found himself nodding. "Probably not," he said. "I see what you mean. Neither of us has a particularly low-maintenance family. Still, I feel pretty confident that we'll be able to have some freedom."

"How? How are you so confident?"

"Because I know that we're bigger and badder than them," Scott said, winking. "Come on, let's eat." He picked up the basket and pulled a pair of sandwiches, wrapped in plastic wrap, out. "This is my mother's recipe."

Allison smiled warmly at this statement, accepted a sandwich, and took a bite. She chewed for a second, her face getting more and more confused, and after a moment of munching she swallowed. "Uh, Scott?" she asked. "This is deli ham and Hellman's mayonnaise."

"Yeah," Scott said, taking a big bite out of his own sandwich. "The 'mom's recipe' thing is an old joke. She never could cook." Scott lowered the sandwich slowly, placing it on one of his legs. "I guess maybe that's disrespectful now."

Allison reached over and took his hand again. "If it wasn't disrespectful when she was alive, I don't think she'd think so now."

"Thanks," Scott said. He picked up the sandwich again and bit into it.

A little bit of munching later, Scott looked over at Allison, who'd reclined onto her elbows on the blanket. "Full?" he asked.

"Completely full," she clarified.

Scott's devilish grin reappeared. "Well, not _completely_ full, I'm sure," he said. "I can think of at least one thing you've got room for."

Allison laughed, an incredulous look on her face. "You're incorrigible," she said. "Give me some time to digest. Not all of us have hyperactive metabolisms."

Scott backed off. "Wouldn't want to send you home sick to Daddy," he said. "He, uh, still doesn't know about us, right?"

"Right," Allison confirmed. She shook her head to get all of her hair behind herself. "I figure easing him into the idea of his daughter dating a werewolf might be better than just hitting him over the head with it."

"Yeah, that's good thinking," Scott said. "You know I have a meeting with him later, right?"

Allison sat up. "No," she said. "What about?"

"Planning," he said. "For the next full moon."

"Scott, that's like, weeks away."

"I know," Scott said, picking up a bottle of water and polishing it off. "But he figured, and I agreed, that if we sit down and work on the details early, maybe we can avoid a fiasco like last time."

Allison shivered. "Hopefully nothing like that night happens again," she said.

Scott sidled up next to her. "Well, that night wasn't _all_ bad..." he said, smiling at her and snaking his hand onto her stomach, rolling up the fabric of her shirt so that he was running his fingers over her skin.

"Incorrigible again," she said, shaking her head.

Scott blanched, retracted his hand. "You know, if you don't want to do anything like that, it's okay," he said. "You can just tell me. I'm kind of sensing a pattern in the things you're saying."

Allison rolled her eyes, grabbed his hand and replaced it on her stomach. "The _pattern_ is that your girlfriend happens to still be very human," she said, her lips curling, coyly. "So if you try to jump her before she's had lunch, she's not going to have energy. And if you try to jump her directly after lunch, she needs time to digest. Neither of those things means she doesn't want you to jump her. You're going to need to be gentle with me."

Scott grinned wickedly again. "Seemed you liked the rough stuff the other night," he said.

She grinned just as wickedly back. "I did," she said. "And I do. But I also like it gentle and romantic, and that's what I'm in the mood for right now. Gentle. Slow. I want you to make love to me."

"There's that phrase again," Scott said. Allison's smile widened and she rolled her eyes again. Before she could reach over and kiss him, though, Scott's face clouded over. "Hang on a second," he said, pushing her lightly back. "It _was_ pretty rough the other night."

"I remember," Allison said. "I was kinda there, you know?"

"Well, it was _rough_," Scott said. "And it was your first time and that's always supposed to hurt girls even if it's not rough, but that was, you know, _rough_ rough, like the kind of rough that you only get from fucking a _thing_ like me. I must have hurt you like crazy. Oh my God, I didn't even think for a second about it, I'm so sorry, I can't believe I - "

"Scott!" Allison said, reaching over and taking hold of his head with both hands. "You're rambling. Anyway, I'm here now, right? I'm fine."  
"But how?" he asked.

Allison took a deep breath. "The other night wasn't my first time," she said.

"Oh," Scott replied, shrinking back in on himself immediately. "Uh. Yeah. Well, that'd explain it. Uh, you know, it's not like it was my first time either, so it's not like it's a big deal or anything, you know, right? 'Cause, yeah. Totally." Allison gave him a look of kind disbelief. "You're not buying any of that, are you?"

"Not so much."

"Okay, it was my first time," Scott said. "But it honestly doesn't matter that it wasn't yours. Honest."

The look on Allison's face turned pained. "I don't have a built in lie detector like you do, Scott," she said.

"I guess that's where the trust thing comes in," Scott said. When Allison still looked pained, he continued. "Okay, look. We were both different people before we met each other. I was – well, I was kind of a dweeb."

"You still are 'kind of a dweeb'."

"Hear me out," Scott said. "I didn't really care about things before I met you. I mean, I cared, but I didn't take things personally. Or seriously. I don't know, things just didn't have importance. Like lacrosse. I loved playing lacrosse, and if I didn't get to play maybe I'd whine or complain, but not because lacrosse was _super_ important, just because I thought I was losing something that I'd had and I knew that was bad. I think you can want to avoid losing things even when you don't really have anything. Then I met you and it was like I _had_ something for the first time – something to really care about, something to _matter_. And that feeling's branched out a bit since then, but it definitely started with you. I was a child before I met you, and now - "

"I made you a man?" Allison asked, trying to hide a wan smile.

"I guess," Scott said, grinning a dopey grin. "All cliches aside. Point is, it doesn't matter that you slept with someone before me. That's just, you know, what people do. It doesn't change who you are, or even who you were. Me, I'm the one who wasn't, well, _worthy_ of you back then, so if anyone should be ashamed, it's me."

Allison reached a hand out to brush against Scott's face. "I think I like not having a built-in lie detector," she said. "I get to hear these little speeches from you. Now, first thing, you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of – nothing at all. Second, get over here and make love to me, right now."

Which is what he did. Absent constraints of time or the pressures of the people who were usually around them, they took their time, removing each others' clothes slowly. As he'd guessed, Allison wasn't wearing anything under her tank top, which was the first article to go; it was closely followed by his own shirt, and then his pants, leaving him naked. Smiling warmly, Allison stood, unbuckled her belt, and dragged her leather riding pants down over her skin, revealing her pelvic region and her legs a little at a time. She kicked them off her feet and, for a second, stood completely naked as Scott, laying on his side on the blanket, examined her body. _She really is completely perfect,_ he thought.

"I take it you like what you see?" Allison asked, teasing lightly.

Scott sat up, took her hand, and pulled her down so that she was straddling him. He kept her hand in his, lacing his fingers around hers; his other arm went around her back, to give her added stability and to pull her closer. She gasped slightly, coming eye level with him. "Allison Argent, I love you," he said. "I loved you the second I saw you. Even with everything that's been happening I've never stopped loving you. And I never will stop."

She leaned forward, placed a light kiss on his lips. "I've never stopped loving you, either," she said. He felt her free hand journey down in between them to grasp the hard length of his erection, to guide him to where they both wanted it to go, and then a second later he pulled her hips in closer and he was inside of her. They both let out little gasps. Scott watched as Allison adjusted to the sensation between her legs, her breathing having gone unsteady for a second; once she'd steadied herself, she began rocking her hips, slowly at first, and then building in momentum. The hand he had on her lower back traveled higher and he pulled her head down closer for another kiss, a long one.

As they kissed and the sensations traveling between their bodies grew, all Scott could think was that he wanted nothing other than to keep doing this, exactly this, until the end of all time.

***[]***

Hours later, Scott arrived at the Argent house. Having agreed with Allison that it'd be best for them to arrive at different times, she'd already headed home about an hour previous. _Took a little while to cool off and catch our breath_, he thought, smiling. _Damn, it is good to be alive. And yes, I just thought that it's good to be alive. The world is getting surreal._

Making it even more surreal, as Scott approached the door, he realized that this time he'd have to knock and be admitted. He shook his head. _Weird shit. _He stepped up to the door and knocked and almost instantly the door swung open and he was looking into Allison's bright eyes. "Dad said you'd be coming over," she said, loudly, her eyes twinkling. A regular human wouldn't have seen the beads of sweat still clinging to her forehead from earlier – most hers, some his too – but Scott could see them clearly. "Come in," she said. "Dad's waiting in the kitchen."

As Scott passed, he felt Allison briefly twine her fingers around his, and he grinned down at her, then stepped past and proceeded into the kitchen. He wasn't terribly surprised to find Chris with a grim look on his face. _I'd probably have been more freaked if he'd looked happy_, Scott thought. _He only plays happy when he's planning something._ "Scott," he said, nodding.

"Mr. Argent," Scott replied, nodding respectfully as well.

Chris arched an eyebrow. "It's 'Mr. Argent,' now?" he asked, nodding at the chair across the table from him.

Scott spread his hands out in front of him as he sat down. "I'm trying to be polite," he said. "Was there something else I was supposed to call you?"

Chris shook his head. "It'll do," he said. He sighed. "Settling back into your old house okay?"

"Not yet," Scott said. "We filed the emancipation paperwork, but it takes a little while to go through. Still, I'll probably be back living there within a week or two."

Chris leaned forward. "I don't mean to sound callous, but it is rather fortuitous, you winding up living in an entire house by yourself," he said. "You can redo part of it – say, the basement – to contain you and Lydia during the full moon. No one will ever be the wiser and we can really make sure you're locked down appropriately."

Scott nodded slowly. _No cold-blood jokes. Think of Allison._ "I hadn't thought of that," he said. "All things considered I'd prefer we keep using other places. I think that if we turned my house into a lockup I might feel vulnerable. Houses catch fire pretty easily."

Chris shifted in his chair slightly. "I can promise you that Kate won't be a problem."

"You can," Scott said, allowing a skeptical note into his voice. _Might as well let him know I still don't trust her._

"Yes," Chris replied. "I've got her on a short leash. I'll make sure she doesn't do anything to harm either of you."

_Trust, Scott._ "Okay," Scott said, exhaling slowly. "If you don't mind me saying, I still wouldn't want to use my own house to lock myself and Lydia up for the full moon."

Chris nodded again. "I understand," he said. "And I'm sure we can come up with an alternate arrangement. But, Scott, the full moon is the least of our worries."

Scott leaned forward. "Come again?"

Chris sighed again, stood. _Everything from his posture to his pheromones are screaming stress_, Scott thought. _I thought it was just 'cause he's wound tight, but this is more than that._ "I got a phone call earlier today," he said. "We're going to be having some visitors in town."

Scott's brow furrowed. "What kind of visitors?"

"Hunters," Chris said. Scott's blood ran cold. "Hunters who don't work for me, for the sake of clarity. Only a few, but – well, they're not the ideal people for our situation. Their leader's name is Gunther Kage, and he has kind of a rough reputation."

"Coming from you, that really worries me."

"It should," Chris said, rubbing at his stubble. "Gunther is exceptionally violent. He's killed werewolves with his bare hands. He's easy to provoke and doesn't leave jobs unfinished, ever. He's kind of a legend, really."

Scott frowned. "You mean like Jack the Ripper?"

Chris scowled at him. "More like Davy Crockett," he said. "Rough, precise, and deadly."

"Did he mention why he was coming here?"

"No," Chris said.

Scott's frown deepened. "And you didn't think that'd be an important nugget of information to gather?"

"It's less important than avoiding contact with him," Chris said. "From everything I've heard, he's a hardliner – probably doesn't believe in peaceful coexistence between humans and the supernatural. So we're all going to have as little contact with him as possible, to try and keep from provoking him. If we're lucky he'll only be in town for a few days."

"Here's the sixty million dollar question," Scott said. "Does he follow the same code you do?"

"Yes," Chris replied. "But as with all things, codes can be stretched. In order to be square with the code, Gunther only has to be defending himself directly or be acting to prevent you from taking human life in the future. Plenty of hunters think that _all_ werewolves are killers by their nature and simply execute them on sight. Now, he's almost certainly heard that we've forged a treaty of sorts, and I don't think he'd come here and just walk all over that. But the bottom line is that if he thinks for a second that he's justified in killing you, he'll do it without any hesitation."

Scott actually chuckled. "That last bit describes you just as well," he said. "Just saying. The difference, of course, is how much it takes for you to feel justified. Sorry, didn't mean to offend you, just thought that was interesting."

Chris shook his head. "It's okay," he said.

"So Lydia and I need to make ourselves scarce for while this guy's in town?" Scott asked.

Chris shook his head again. "No," he said. "If you're not plainly visible it'll make him uneasy. No, you're going to be right here by our sides when he arrives. We have dinner planned for the night after tomorrow – you and Lydia need to be here. To show our solidarity."

Scott nodded, skepticism flaring. "So you want us to hang out with the guy who probably wants to kill us, rather than hiding."

Chris smiled, a sad, chiding look. "No matter where you hide, Gunther Kage could find you," he said. "At least if you're here, we can try to convince him that our way works by showing him."

Scott eyed the kitchen. It was mostly rebuilt from the fight that occurred after Jason's execution, but it still clearly bore some scars from the fight, and the portion of the wall that had to be rebuilt completely noticeably bulged from the rest of the wall. "Let's just hope he doesn't ask about any of your recent renovations," Scott said. "Or how many times members of your family have shot me in the past few months."

"You're going to have to reign in that sarcasm," Chris said. "I barely put up with it. Gunther won't."

"You're right," Scott said. "I'm sorry. I'll try harder on that."

Chris crossed over to Scott and stuck out a hand. Scott, surprised, grasped it. "We'll get through this," Chris said. "He may be zealous, but he's not evil."

Scott breathed out slowly, let go of Chris' hand. "I'll take your word for it," he said. _Until Gunther Kage proves you wrong._

"Remember, night after tomorrow is Gunther's welcome dinner," Chris said. "It's kind of a tradition for hunters. It's semi-formal, so you'll have to dress nice. Make sure to tell Lydia as well."

Scott rolled his eyes. "Won't be a problem for her."

***[]***

That night – after a brief, slightly terse discussion with her mother, father, and aunt about preparations for Gunther's visit – Allison sat up in her room reading when she heard a tap on her window. Grinning, she bounded of the bed and opened the window and Scott slithered inside. "You know, you should probably check and see who it is before throwing the window open," Scott said.

"You're the only thing that goes bump in the night that visits me via window," Allison said, planting a kiss on his nose. "If you're here for round two – or, you know, I guess more like round five after earlier – you might have to wait a day or two. I liked it but my body still needs to adjust to all the, er, activity. I'm a little sore."

Scott's brow instantly furrowed. "Did I hurt you?" he asked.

"No," Allison said. "Silly. This is natural. I may not have been a virgin before this week, but I still hadn't had sex in a long time. It takes time to adjust to doing it again. I'll be fine, I just need to rest."

"Should I go?" Scott said. "You know, so you can rest?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "Not that kind of rest," she said.

"Oh," Scott said. "Right." He took a seat on the edge of her bed and looked her up and down. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and little else. _The same panties she'd been wearing earlier_, Scott thought, although he couldn't see them. _Oh, God, I can smell that it's them. I can never ever tell her that. Not that it's a bad smell. It's a good smell. Oh, it's a good, good smell._

"Scott?" Allison asked. "You're staring."

Scott shook the cobwebs out. "Sorry," he said.

Allison sat down next to him on the bed and folded her legs under her. "What's up?"

"Just wanted your take on this whole Gunther Kage thing," Scott said. "You ever heard of him?"

"Scott, four months ago I thought hunters were guys in plaid with rifles shooting deer."

"Yeah, but you've done a lot of reading and stuff since then, right?" Scott asked.

Allison sighed. "Yeah, I've been studying," she said. "The code is all oral – you know, spoken, get your mind out of the gutter – but there's still lots of stuff in books on, you know, supernatural creatures and all that. But there isn't anything about the hunters themselves."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Allison confirmed. "I asked Dad about it a few weeks back. He said that hunters dedicate their lives to the code, so the code is all the biography they need. Kate rolled her eyes and said reading is for wussies anyway."

"Great," Scott said. He cast his eyes down to the floor, his back radiating stress.

"What is it?" Allison asked, snaking her arms around him.

"I just wanted things to go smooth for a little while," he said. "It felt like we were really making progress. You and me back together, your dad on board for the whole not murdering us thing, even Kate's been less, you know, _Kate_. And now this."

"Maybe this will go smoothly," Allison said.

"Now that you've actually said that out loud, how likely do you think it is?"

Allison thought for a second, letting Scott stare in stressed, dejected silence at her floor. Then, with resolution, she stood and peeled her t-shirt off over her head. Scott looked up as she dropped it into his field of vision. She stepped in front of him and grabbed at the corners of his own shirt, pulling off over his head even as he began to sputter. "Allison, what – I thought you said - "

"I did," Allison said. She dropped Scott's shirt next to her own and then climbed onto his lap, straddling him, him still sitting up. "And it's not that. I don't know what's going to happen in the next few days. Hell, I don't know what's going to happen in the next few months or years. And that scares me. Feeling your skin against mine makes me feel better. Kissing you makes me feel better. So kiss me." She bent slowly toward him.

He muttered, "I really hope your Dad doesn't barge in. He might rethink that whole 'not killing me' thing we were talking about earlier."

She muttered, "Shut up."

He did.

***[]***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, like I said, sorry that this chapter was mostly fluff. I've got relatively big plans for this next arc of _Sell the Life of the World_, and between research and freewriting exercises to develop the original characters (because Gunther is far from the only character you're going to be introduced to soon) it's taken a while to get this off the ground. Throw in the usual rigors of daily life – work, etc – and my attempts to get back to my own original writing (surprise, I'm a published author) – and the fact that my wife is now having spinal surgery on Thursday (!) - and you've got an idea of the relative maelstrom I've been living in for the past couple of weeks.

What I'm trying to say is that I haven't really hit a stride with producing content for the next arc of _Sell the Life of the World_. When I was posting the first ten chapters, I was consistently two or three chapters ahead – when posting chapter four I'd already written chapters five and six and was into seven, and so on. Hopefully I'll hit that stride again, but right now it's just not the case – I haven't actually written any of the story past the chapter you just read at the time it's being posted. What this all boils down to is that the updates to the story are going to remain slow for a while.

As ever, leave any applicable feedback in the reviews. Thanks for sticking with me!


	12. The First Supper

THE FIRST SUPPER

Scott, Lydia, and Stiles sat in Stiles' Jeep, down the street from the Argent's house. Scott and Lydia were both decked out in formal attire – Lydia had insisted on picking out his suit, which had baffled Scott, as they all pretty much looked the same to him – while Stiles wore his usual jeans and t-shirt.

"Are we all clear on the plan?" Scott asked, all three of them staring out the windshield, down the quiet street to where the Argent house sat. _I'd feel better if I could already hear the screaming_, Scott thought. _All this quiet and polite stuff is going to drive me nuts._

"Yeah, we're clear on the plan," Stiles said. And then, for the millionth time since Scott had laid out his idea for the evening, he continued. "We're clear that the plan sucks. The plan is stupid. The plan is – it's not even a plan, it's that bad. It's an anti-plan, Scott."

"We discussed this," Scott said, gritting his teeth. _I love him like a brother, but damn he can get under your skin when he wants to._ "We need you on backup."

"I just don't like sitting out here while you go have dinner with Jeffery Dahmer."

"I doubt he'll be that _that_ bad," Lydia muttered.

"Who?" Scott asked.

Stiles shook his head. "The point is that I can do so much more if I'm _in there with you_ instead of waiting out here."

"Like what?" Lydia asked. Where the question would once have been laced with Lydia's typical acid, it sounded much softer when directed at Stiles, Scott reflected.

"Like - " Stiles said. He blanched, then hung his head. "I don't know. Something."

Lydia took his hand, shooting Scott a quick look which clearly said, 'say anything and I'll kill you.' "We talked about this," she said. "In there, you're another person we care about in a small, enclosed space with a psychopath – and however many other psychopaths he's brought with him. Out here, you're not directly in harm's way, and you can swoop in and rescue us with the car if need be."

"Yeah," Stiles said, shortly. "Yeah, I know. But I don't have to like it. I reserve the right to complain. And whine. Lots of that."

Scott rolled his eyes, but could see Lydia give Stiles' hand a squeeze. "It's okay. Just be ready."

Scott and Lydia climbed out the Jeep as Stiles muttered, "I'll be ready."

As soon as they were out on the sidewalk, Stiles killed the lights on the Jeep, although he kept the motor running. Scott smoothed the black suit he wore and regarded Lydia closely. She wore a long, navy blue dress that hugged close to her hips and then billowed out slightly by her knees, which wrapped around behind her neck. Her hair was done up elegantly and, Scott thought, too complex to really be appreciated. When he'd seen it an hour ago, he'd almost said something about how it'd just get wrecked if they got into a fight at the Argents' tonight, but then he'd thought twice about it. _If it does come down to a fight tonight, the last thing we'll be worrying about right then is ruined hair_, he thought. _I think I might be growing tact. Allison is going to be so proud._

As Scott and Lydia approached the Argent house, Scott checked his watch. They were twenty minutes early, per the original plan; only the Argents' SUV and Allison's motorcycle were parked in the driveway. "Doesn't look like they're here yet," Lydia observed.

"Good," Scott replied. "Let's get inside, see if we can get the lay of the land before they show up."

Lydia shot him a sidelong glance as they approached the front door. "I'm trying really, really hard not to make any 'lay of the land' jokes. Especially after you came home the other day smelling more like her than yourself."

"Hey, I didn't make any comments about your little hand-holding session with Stiles back there. And may I remind you, I'm still sharing a room with him, so if you two get up to _anything_..."

"Stiles and I have kissed," Lydia said tightly, although she blushed just enough for Scott to be able to see it. "We have done so a grand total of three times. You and Allison seem to be preparing for the creation of your own line of pornographic videos. I could practically tell which positions you used from where the smells were strongest."

_Maybe this will shut her up. _"We always use all the positions," Scott said, trying to look smug.

Instead of mortifying Lydia into silence, she just rolled her eyes at him. "Typical guy."

They'd reached the door. "Can it," Scott said. "Remember, Allison's parents don't know we're back together, and hearing you talking about _that_ is just about the last way I'd want them to find out. We want to survive tonight, right?"

Lydia rolled her eyes again. "Right," she said.

Scott reached out and knocked on the door. It creaked a bit as it opened – _new door creak_, Scott thought, with a slight pang of embarrassment. He'd been hoping that Allison would be the one to answer the door but no such luck; Kate was the one standing there, in a black evening dress. Unlike Lydia, who'd undoubtedly put several hours into her hair and makeup, Kate looked as though she'd done nothing different with her hair or makeup. "Well, well," she said, in mock surprise. "If it isn't our two little strays."

"Little?" Scott asked, trying to sound tough without threatening.

"Don't worry, Allison _still_ won't tell me anything about what you're like downstairs," Kate said. "She even keeps insisting that she still doesn't know. It's cute, you know, because she really hasn't learned how to lie yet."

Scott blushed and, for once, couldn't think of a comeback that didn't sound incredibly weak. Lydia saved him. "You're sounding a lot more _stable_ than the last time we saw you," she said. "I guess you lie pretty good, right?"

Kate's arrogant grin twisted into something unrecognizable, something pained and angry at the same time. "The last time you saw me, I did you a favor, bitch," she hissed. "You'd do well to remember that. And as for you," she said, turning on Scott, "I know what you're up to with Allison. She's not _yours_."

"Um, excuse me?" Scott asked. "I never said she was _mine_. I don't want to own her or anything. Why can't you just leave us alone?"

Kate laughed, a sound that was utterly without mirth; its tone was an icy chill that made both Scott and Lydia shudder involuntarily. "You don't get it yet," she said. "There's a lot you still don't understand, but you need to understand this. _I won't let you have her_. Do you understand?"

"Not really," Scott admitted.

Kate opened her mouth, furious, but a voice sounded from behind her. "Kate, are you going to allow our guests inside or not?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Is 'not' really an option?"

Chris Argent appeared at her side, pulling on her arm so she'd step out of the way. "We've discussed how you'll conduct yourself this evening," he said to her. "Do not let me down."

Kate wrestled her arm away, glaring at Chris. "Of course, big brother," she said. She turned back to Scott and Lydia and, loudly and with exaggerated enthusiasm, said, "Welcome to our home, honored guests. Please come inside so we can be slavishly subservient to all your subhuman wishes."

Even Chris rolled his eyes.

Scott and Lydia entered, casting glances around. The main dining room was down the hallway from the stairs, but Chris continued into the kitchen instead, Kate breaking off to head down to the dining room. Scott and Lydia followed Chris. "I have men waiting in the back in case we need backup," Chris was saying. "Since the – er, _unpleasantness_, with Lee and Roth, I've gone over the concept of loyalty with all of my men. They can be trusted."

"Even to fight other hunters?" Scott asked.

Chris hesitated for the barest fraction of a second. _Might as well have been for ten minutes when you're trying to lie to a werewolf._ "Even to fight other hunters," Chris replied.

Scott nodded, tried to sound sincere. "Great."

"Kate, Victoria, Allison and I will all be armed at dinner," Chris went on. "Gunther told us to expect himself and five others, and we should expect that they'll all be armed as well."

"Six of them, six of us," Scott said. "Lydia's a living weapon by herself, and with my Alpha form, I'd say the odds are in our favor in the event of a fight."

"On paper, I'd agree," Chris replied. "But the biggest mistake we could make tonight would be underestimating Gunther. He's managed to live a relatively long life doing this job, which means he's used to getting into things that, on paper, sound like they're over his head, and then getting out again."

Scott nodded. "Right. No underestimation."

Chris checked his watch. "They're going to be here soon," he said. He hesitated again, this time more noticeably. Scott was about to ask him what was on his mind when he spoke. "I've seated you next to Allison tonight, Scott. That bow and arrow of hers has the most time between shots, which makes her vulnerable; you are, and I hate to admit this, the most qualified to protect her. I know that might be awkward, for both of you. I talked to her earlier and she seemed okay with it. Are you okay with it?"

It was everything Scott could do to keep from grinning like a complete idiot. He could feel similarly strong restraint practically radiating off of Lydia, by his side. "Shouldn't be a problem," he said.

Chris hesitated again. _He's afraid he's going to get me angry and endanger our truce_, Scott thought. _Oh, this is precious. _"You're sure?" he asked. "I know there were some feelings of...resentment, between the two of you, over your failed relationship. I need to know you'll keep her safe like you would anyone else."

Scott nodded without the slightest hesitation. "Absolutely," he said, resisting the urge to add, 'with my life.' After a second, though, he saw that Chris needed more. "We, uh, cleared the air."

Lydia barely managed to repress a snort. Chris nodded, slowly. "Okay," he said. "This truce will only work with trust. I'm trusting you with my daughter's life. If you'll excuse me, I have to see to some of the table arrangements and the food with Victoria and Kate – Allison will be down in a minute, and the three of you can greet Gunther and his party when they arrive."

Chris strode confidently out of the kitchen. As soon as he was no longer in earshot the snort Lydia had managed to repress earlier burst out of her. "That was _incredible_," she said. "If I only had a camera, the look on your face..." Scott shook his head and exited the kitchen, to wait at the bottom of the stairs for Allison. "Cleared the air, right, of everything but the stench of lots of crazy sex."

Scott was about to say something scathing to Lydia, but just as he opened his mouth, Allison appeared at the top of the stairs and Scott temporarily lost the capacity for human speech. She was wearing a floor-length white evening gown, accented with a silver belt. The gown had a single, thin strap that extended over her right shoulder, leaving her left shoulder bare. Like Lydia, her hair was done up into an elegant hairdo, although Allison's was simpler. At her ears hung a pair of silver earrings – _wolves_, Scott thought, his binocular vision allowing him to see them in detail from the bottom of the stairs.

She smiled down at him and he felt like melting before she began to descend the stairs. Lydia looked between them once and then made a comment about seeing if she could help out in the dining room, quickly bolting from the entrance hall. By the time Allison was at the bottom of the stairs, she and Scott were alone.

"You look," Scott started, then felt how dry his throat had gotten from leaving his mouth hanging open. He closed it, swallowed quickly, then shook his head until it was clear. "You look gorgeous."

Allison actually giggled. "I figured our date for the formal didn't really go as planned," she said. "And, you know, this night's probably not going to go so well, either. But I figured we could have a little bit of it." Her face suddenly clouded. "That's enough, right?"

Before she could say anything else or worry any more, Scott grabbed her hands and squeezed gently. "Anything," he said. "I'll take any moment with you, no matter how small or how much shit we know is going to go down right afterward."

She smiled again at him and Scott felt himself melt all over again. _There is no way I'm ever going to be able to fight that smile_, he thought. _I guess I need to resign myself to a life of never picking the movie, or the restaurant, or what to watch on TV when we're done having sex. And I'm going to love every second of it._ She quirked her eyebrows, looking nervous. "So you think I look nice?" she asked.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world," Scott said. He glanced around to make sure none of the Argents were ready to pop out of the hallway, but he could hear all of them – and Lydia – down the hall, in the dining room. "And I'm going to steal a kiss. Real quick."

He leaned in quickly and pressed his lips to Allison's and felt her reciprocate, tasted a fruity note in her lip gloss, felt his own lips moisten through contact with hers, and then had to fight down the urge to wrap his arms around her and pick her up and carry her upstairs. After too short a moment she drew back, smiling even wider. "Later tonight..." she started.

"Save it," Scott said, his ears picking up. "I think they're here."

Allison's expression changed instantly to worry. "I hope everything is all set in there," she said, craning her neck to look down the hallway toward the dining room.

Scott laid a hand on her shoulder, which sent fresh shivers through both of them. "I'm sure it's fine," he said. He squeezed gently and let his eyes travel up and down her figure once again. _I am the luckiest werewolf in the world_, he thought. As his eyes took in the form-fitting dress, though, Scott realized something. "Your dad said you'd be armed," Scott said. Allison nodded without looking at him. "Well – where are you concealing it? Besides, isn't a bow a little big to try and hide at a dinner table?"

Allison smiled and looked back at him. "Hopefully I won't get to show you how we hid everything until after they're gone," she said. "But rest assured that we've got it covered." Scott was about to ask again when a stiff knock resounded on the door. Scott and Allison both regarded it apprehensively. "Show time," Allison said.

Scott watched Allison reach for the front door and pull it open. The man standing on the other side was taller than him and, Scott couldn't help it, his first though was that Gunther Kage was a cross between the Marlboro Man and a British diplomat. He had the same rugged outdoors-y look as the old tobacco mascot, but was wearing a well-pressed black suit with tails and a monocle. "Hello, sir," Allison said. "Mr. Kage?"

"Indeed, miss," he said, bowing slightly. "And you'll be the radiant Allison Argent, correct? I had heard that old Chris had a daughter, and knowing your father's inability to mess anything up I figured she'd have to be beautiful, but I was simply unprepared for just how beautiful you would be."

Allison, despite herself, blushed. _Guy's a charmer. Let's see how he takes this._ Scott stepped forward. "I'm Scott McCall," he said, extending his hand.

Gunther Kage straightened up slowly, eying Scott's outstretched hand. "Yes, I suppose you are," he said. He turned his attention back to Allison. "May we come in?"

Allison spared a brief glance between Gunther and Scott and then stepped aside. "Of course."

Gunther nodded at her and stepped through the doorway. He was closely followed by two young men and three young women, all of whom seemed to be around Scott and Allison's age. The two boys were unquestionably related to Gunther; they shared his rugged good looks and exceptionally masculine physique. Of the girls, two were probably sisters, although they didn't look like they were related directly to Gunther or the two young men who were almost certainly his sons; and the third girl looked nothing like any of them. Aside from this quick analysis Scott didn't really take in many details about any of Gunther's entourage; he kept his attention focused primarily on the older hunter.

"Can I take your coats?" Allison asked.

Gunther shook his head. Before he could reply, one of the young men spoke up. "That your motorcycle out front?" he asked Allison.

"Yes," she replied, a little surprised. "How'd you know?"

The young man – he was slightly taller than the other – turned to the other, grinning. "Told you," he said. "You owe me ten bucks. I can _always_ tell a chick bike."

"A chick bike?" Allison asked, and Scott could detect a slight edge.

"You know, a bike a chick would ride," the young man said, turning back to her and flashing a radiant smile. He leaned towards her and stage-whispered, "It's sexier than a bike a guy would ride. You fit the bill perfectly, darling."

Scott suppressed the growl that rose in his throat with difficulty. _At least I know who I'm going for first when the shooting starts, _he thought. To Allison's credit, she looked completely nonplussed by the obvious line. Gunther cut in. "We'll be keeping our coats, my dear," he said, casting a disapproving look at the son who'd spoken. "Old hunter habit. We're just more comfortable that way."

"So you're all hunters?" Scott asked, perhaps a bit louder than he should have. His eyes swept the girls. They didn't _look_ like sociopathic killers, but if there was one thing that becoming a werewolf had taught him, it was that looks could be deceiving.

Gunther again regarded him with a wary gaze. "Maybe we should all go in and sit down to dinner," he suggested. He turned his gaze back to Allison. "If everything is ready. I'd hate to rush you if the food is still being prepared."

Allison forced a smile onto her face. "We said dinner on the dot at the hour," she said. "Dinner's ready and already on the table."

"Excellent," Gunther replied. He cast a look between Allison and Scott. "If you two wouldn't mind leading the way, we'll sit right down." He put an extra emphasis on the word 'two.'

With difficulty, Scott turned his back on the hunter and his group. He looked at Allison beside him, who looked back, her eyebrows raised. _That could have gone better,_ Scott thought. _I guess it could have gone worse, too, but still._

The seven of them emerged into the Argent dining room. It seemed bigger than Scott remembered, with place settings for twelve and various covered trays of food already on the table. Lydia was sitting in a chair next to Victoria Argent, who sat beside her husband; Kate was on his other side, with two chairs next to her with signs - "Allison" and "Scott." Scott scanned this arrangement quickly and realized that he and Lydia were both going to be sitting next to people from Gunther's party – maybe even Gunther himself. _We'll be first in the line of fire,_ he thought. _Thanks, Chris._

Allison and Scott crossed to their seats as Mr. Argent rose from his own place at the table. "Gunther," he said. "It's excellent to see you. And in such good health!"

Gunther laughed, a much heartier belly laugh than Scott would have expected from a man who didn't seem to have an ounce of fat on him. He strode around the table behind Scott and Allison to shake Chris' hand. "Chris Argent," he said, shaking Chris' hand briskly. "I feel as though I'm in the presence of a legend."

"You're a great flatterer, Gunther," Chris said. "Anyway, _I'm_ the one in the presence of a legend here."

Gunther waved him off. He regarded the two women at the table. "And one of you will be Kate and the other Victoria, although you'll forgive me if I'm not sure who is who," he said.

Kate stuck out her hand from beside Allison. "Katherine Argent," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kage."

Gunther bowed to her. "And to you as well." This was then repeated with Mrs. Argent. "Well, I suppose you'll want to know who the ragamuffins I've brought along tonight are," he said, crossing back around the table, where none of the young men and women who'd accompanied Gunther had sat down; they were instead clustered in a corner of the room, all of them looking a lot less at ease than Gunther appeared to be. "The two strapping young men are my boys, Curtis and Declan. These two here are the Amnisiade sisters, Sophie and Bridget. And the short one with the black hair is Lavinia, although she goes by Nia, on account of there being no other way to shorten 'Lavinia' without it bringing to mind the word 'lavatory.' The girls are, uh, family friends."

_Well, _that_ wasn't too obviously a euphemism_, Scott thought.

Chris regarded the assemblage, still standing. "You're all welcome at our table," he said. "Please, find seats. I'm sure you're anxious to eat."

"Are we ever!" Gunther said, and grabbed a seat exactly opposite Chris at the other head of the table. The others slowly filed into seats; Scott found himself sitting unpleasantly next to Curtis Kage, the taller brother who'd been trying to flirt with Allison earlier.

Gunther began to reach for the nearest platter when Kate chose to begin the dinner conversation. "So, Scott," she said, and the look on her face made Scott's face drain of all color. "Why don't you tell the Kages about the time I shot you?"

_Oh, shit_.

"Or is it 'times,' plural? I know I've shot _at_ you plenty of times, but I'm honestly not sure if I've hit you multiple times. You're such a fast little devil."

_Oh...double shit._

No one at the table moved. Chris took a moment to stare daggers at his sister, who smiled sweetly back at him, but Scott's primary focus was on Gunther Kage, who was giving him a hard, long look. Scott found Allison's hand under the table, squeezed it once, and then felt his claws elongate. Before he, or anyone else, could do anything drastic, though, Gunther spoke. "Shot, huh?" he said. "Suppose you have some battle scars then, eh?"

"Not really, no," Scott replied, evenly.

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't," Gunther muttered.

"Allison there shot him in the neck, once," Kate continued. "You should have seen all the blood! It was right in the kitchen back that way. There are probably some stains left between the floor tiles if you look closely. But I suppose we shouldn't show you until after dessert."

Gunther again cast a long, hard stare, this time at Allison. "So, you're following in the family footsteps," he said, again sounding like he was forcing an even tone of voice. "What's your poison? Pistol? Rifle?"

Allison breathed in so slightly that Scott was sure he was the only one who heard it. He reached for her hand again and squeezed it, although he felt her pace quicken when she felt his claws. _Oops_. "Bow and arrow, actually," she said.

Gunther nodded, slowly. "An archer," he said. "Undeniably useful to have an archer around when you're dealing with werewolves. But then I'd assume you've already heard all about that."

"Yeah," Allison said. "Yeah, I have."

Gunther sighed. Some of the tension seemed to flow out of him, but he still looked on edge. _What the hell is going on here?_ "Look, I can tell that Ms. Kate is trying, none to subtly, to imply that things aren't going as well here as you'd have us believe."

Chris cast another murderous glance at his sister. "We've had a few...altercations," he said, turning his gaze back to Gunther. "Nothing we haven't been able to patch up afterward. And we've managed to avoid fatalities."

"Not true," Kate said, quickly. "We did kill one werewolf, out in the woods. Shot him in the head. But now, you know, it's almost like he didn't matter. Right, Scott?"

Scott felt his hand tighten on Allison's. _Just don't hurt her,_ a voice in his head said. _You can get strength from her, but not if it results in broken bones._

"I see," Gunther said, casting his eyes around at the girls from his party. "Maybe this was a mistake after all."

"What?" Scott asked, before he could think better of saying anything directly to the old hunter. "What's a mistake?"

Gunther looked at him directly again, and Scott had the distinct impression that the old man could see right through his head to the back of his skull. "Coming here," he said. He looked back at Chris. "I'm sorry I was so secretive on the phone, Chris. There was too much a possibility that someone was listening in, someone who couldn't hear what I had to say. And there've been questions ever since I heard about your little treaty and decided to come here. Are you really on the level with them, or are they just your new pet dogs? I've heard of other hunters trying to make guard dogs out of them before, but I figured you were too smart for something like that, but then, who really knows, right? And there's the problem that I may be dumping a huge pile of shit on your doorstep here, but then, if your wolves are really as nice and neutered as the rumors say, it'd have wound up here eventually anyway..."

"Gunther, slow down," Chris said. "You're not making any sense. Why did you come here?"

Gunther sighed again. "There's something out there killing supernatural creatures," he said. "Something that's not us. Something that goes after harmless ones and butchers them. It's torn up more than a few hunters to get at the things they were hunting, and what it's done to _them_ is just – it goes beyond the usual barbarity we put up with."

Chris leaned forward. "Do you know what it is?" he asked.

Gunther shook his head. "No," he said. "Damn thing defies all tracking. Probably some kind of multi-form shapeshifter because I can track just about any beast in the world, supernatural or otherwise, and after visiting a half dozen places this thing's been I wasn't able to pick up anything. It kills its prey as horribly as possible and then just disappears."

Chris' eyes were narrowing. "And, what, you heard we had a pack of benevolent werewolves here in Beacon Hills and you decided to warn us?" he asked. "In person?"

Gunther nodded. "You're a sharp one," he said. "No. No, it's not just about that. I'm getting old, Chris. I'm older than I look, and I _feel_ older than all that. The boys here are good at the job, but they're still new to it, and I couldn't – if something happened to me I couldn't leave them alone to protect the girls."

Chris' eyes were still narrowing. "So that means they'd need protecting," Chris said. "And right now your main worry is a creature that kills other supernatural creatures. You might as well just tell us. What are they?"

Gunther sighed for a third time. _He really does look old._ "They're nymphs," he said.

The reaction was instantaneous. Kate, Victoria, and Chris all burst upward, pulling pistols from under the table. Gunther and his sons reacted instantly as well, popping up and pulling weapons out of their coats – the two boys both pulled handguns and Gunther dragged an entire shotgun out of his cloak. Allison twitched but it was clear she hadn't reacted fast enough; the standoff had begun and the next person to make a move was going to get shot.

Scott looked slowly between the Argents and the Kages, who had enough firepower leveled at each other to massacre everyone in the room. "Maybe we should all calm back down," he said, into the space between the guns. "Or at least explain what the hell is going on for the uninitiated."

"Don't know about nymphs, huh?" Gunther asked. "Just how new are you to all this?"

"Little under a year," Scott replied.

"And you're already an Alpha?" Gunther asked. "Guess that ain't bad, kid. All things considered about what you are."

"Thanks," Scott replied. Not a single person holding a firearm had moved, aside from Gunther, and he'd only done so to speak. "So, feel like explaining why we all have to die? I kind of figured I'd be the cause, and it's kind of nice to not be for once, but I'd still rather not die not knowing why."

"Nymphs are kill-on-sight creatures," Chris said. "No exceptions. You know that, Gunther."

"Yeah, Chris, I know that," Gunther replied.

"Then why are they here?" Kate asked. "Instead of six feet under?"

"I'd be happy to explain that, but I'd prefer to do it without a gun pointed at my head," he said. "Or pointing at anyone else's head, for that matter."

"We're not putting the guns away," Chris said. "You can explain or we can shoot each other."

"Fine, have it your way," Gunther said. "The girls are with me. I just about raised 'em, since they were real little."

"And you knew the whole time what they were?" Victoria asked, sharply.

"Yes, I knew," Gunther replied. "Picked 'em up after the Petersburg massacre in Oregon about fifteen years ago. My own boys were still young and had just lost their ma, and these three were nothing but little babies, you know? I couldn't kill them. So, I found a home for them upstate and raised 'em up."

"You know there's a reason that nymphs are kill-on-sight," Chris said, evenly. "They've gotten to you, Gunther. You know they can't control it. They got to you when they were infants and they're still getting to you now."

"They can control it, Chris," Gunther said. "All that 'they can't control themselves' stuff is a load of superstition."'

"Sounds familiar," Lydia muttered.

"Stay out of this, Lydia," Chris said. "Gunther, I'm going to give you to the count of five to put your weapons away so we can deal with this situation."

Scott took a deep breath. _I am so going to regret this._ "Actually, Mr. Argent," he said, rising slowly out of his chair, his claws lengthening. "I think you three should put down your guns first." He squared his shoulders at the Argents. Slowly, giving him an intense look, Lydia rose as well.

Chris looked furious. "This is a bad move, Scott," he said. "We have something good going here. Don't ruin it over brash sentimentality. You don't know what those girls are capable of."

"You're right, I don't," Scott said. "But your supposed badass hardliner seems to think they're okay. And like Lydia said, what you're saying about them sounds remarkably like what you _were_ saying about us. I'm not going to let you just execute them."

"I should warn you, Scott, we're loaded with silver bullets," Chris said. Allison, who'd been watching Scott with wide eyes, snapped around to stare at her father.

Scott chuckled, a little bitterly. "Of course you are," he said.

"The first one goes to your head," Chris said, inclining his gun to point directly at Scott. "You won't have enough time to finish shifting into your Alpha form before it hits you. Like this a single shot will definitely knock you out – maybe even kill you."

"I appreciate the anatomy lesson," Scott said. "Doesn't change anything. And maybe your first shot takes me out, but you're still outnumbered here."

Chris nodded. "You may think that," he said. "Cavalier." Before Scott, or anyone else, could react to the odd word, there was a crack and a shattering of glass. The window behind them had blown out and all three Kages dropped their guns. Scott's head whipped around to see all three of them holding their hands in pain and surprise. Behind them there were three bullet holes in the glass. Scott's gaze returned to Chris quickly. "Snipers on the roof across the street and a microphone in my lapel," Chris explained. "That last word was a code to disarm the Kages. Stand down, Scott, and we can finish this."

Scott tightened his fist. "Not going to happen."

Chris cocked the hammer on his gun. "Have it your way."

Scott looked down at Allison, his expression grim. He saw a similar expression reflected there, but even as he heard the hammer clicking on Chris' gun, he saw Allison's face tighten into a look of determination. She reached under the table and in a single, fluid movement, straightened up with an arrow and a small black wand in her hand. Still rising to her feet, her dress billowing slightly around her, she flicked a switch on the side of the wand and it telescoped out, extending slightly, and then a pair of arms that had been folded in on themselves swung out and clicked into place, a string being drawn taught as they clicked, leaving Allison holding a bow in her hands. She straightened out, drawing her arrow against the bow string. The arrow was pointed at her father's gun. "Not so outnumbered," Allison said. "I don't think you have a code word for disarming _me_."

Chris' face went furious again. "Allison, _what are you doing?_" he hissed.

Allison's face was set. "What I believe is right."

_Yup. Totally in love._

"Allison, this is insane," Chris said.

"I'm not sitting around while you kill them," Allison said. "Not like I did with that other werewolf. That was _wrong_ and this would be too. We should hear them out and figure out what to do from there."

"You don't understand," Chris said. "Nymphs are too dangerous."

"You know, no one's explained yet why that is," Scott pointed out.

"Pheromones," Gunther said from behind them, still rubbing his wrist. "One of their principal abilities. They have mind-altering pheromones."

"In English, maybe?" Scott asked, feeling a little embarrassed.

"If you can smell them, they can control your mind," Lydia supplied.

"Thanks," Scott said. Then his brow furrowed. "I didn't smell anything strange about them. Still don't, aside from them being terrified out of their wits – that'd be thanks to you, Chris, or at least that's what I'd guess – but there's nothing else weird coming off of them."

"It's too subtle for human senses to detect directly," Chris said.

"Hello? Not exactly rocking regular human senses over here," Scott replied. "I can tell which flavored creamer you used in your coffee this morning from here. French Vanilla's my favorite too, just so you know. And to let you know, _there is nothing weird coming off of them._"

Chris finally wavered. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Cross my not quite human heart," Scott said. "Uh – I do still have a heart when I shift, right?"

Chris rolled his eyes at Scott, but then directed his gaze at Gunther. "_You_ should have warned me about this before coming here," he said. "Bringing nymphs into my home without even telling me first. You've certainly got the nerve that people talk about."

Gunther scowled at him. "I couldn't tell you over the phone because you never know who's listening in," he said. "And if I'd told you ahead of time this wouldn't have been dinner. It just would have been an ambush and then you'd have murdered my daughters. All in all," he said, casting his eyes around, "this went better than I dared hope it would."

Chris finally lowered his gun. Victoria immediately followed suit. Kate's gun stayed level at Gunther. Allison moved her arrow over to face her aunt. "Come on, Aunt Kate," she said. "Time to put the guns away."

Kate sneered, swung her gun lazily around to point at Allison, and went to say something, but Scott never heard it. The second the gun was pointed at Allison, his eyes went blood red and he roared, shifting instantly into his Alpha form, shredding his way out of his shirt and suit coat and leaving his pants just barely intact. Kate was so startled she dropped the gun. Scott went to leap toward her, to tear her throat out, to rip her to shreds, to _defend_, but Allison was in his way, and unlike any other person he couldn't, _couldn't_ bat her out of the way, and then she was turning to plead with him and slowly the words were cutting through and he realized that the Kages had retrieved their guns and they and Chris, Kate, and Victoria were all pointing their weapons at _him_ now, and Lydia looked wide eyed and scared, and with some difficulty he focused on Allison's face, let the words start taking on meaning rather than just being pleasing, soothing sounds, and slowly he felt his Alpha form melt away and then he was just Scott again, standing in the tatters of the suit he'd worn to dinner.

"Phew," he said, as soon as his speaking faculties had reasserted themselves. "Sorry, I just need a minute to catch my breath. It's never happened like that before."

"_What the hell was that,_" Chris said, his gun still trained on Scott.

"Don't know," he said. "Just – as soon as Kate pointed her gun at Allison – I don't know, maybe it was all the stress that had been building up, I just kind of went off. No one's hurt, right?"

Chris nodded curtly. "No one's hurt."

Scott breathed out again. "Okay," he said. "Sorry. I – phew, that was a head rush. I don't think I've ever shifted that fast before."

Slowly, the Argents and Kages lowered their guns.

"I think that's enough excitement for one night," Gunther said. "Clearly, it was a mistake for us to come here. We'll be going. Tonight."

"Wait," Chris said, holding up a single hand. "Wait. I'm sorry. I suppose, given everything that's happened with Scott and Lydia, I should have been more open-minded. And you know that there's no where else for you to go. If this thing that's out there is as bad as you say it is, we're all safer together."

Gunther looked down at his hurt hand then over at Scott, who was still struggling to catch his breath at the fast shift, then back at the Argents, who still held their guns even if none of them were pointed at anyone. "Yeah, if we manage to keep from killing each other."

Chris actually grinned, although it was as grim a motion as he ever made. "That's pretty much Beacon Hills' motto," he said.

Gunther was taking stock of his group. The boys were both clearly shaken from having their guns literally shot out of their hands, but otherwise they seemed okay. The girls were all clearly completely freaked, their eyes wide and their breathing still irregular. Scott sniffed again. Definitely no strange aromas coming from any of them. _And anyway, if they were so into mind-control, wouldn't they have rolled it out as soon as Chris started pointing guns at them? _Oddly enough, the two sisters were both staring at Allison. "All things considered, I really do think that's enough for one night," Gunther said. "As soon as we can peel the girls out of those chairs we should probably go get some rest."

"Any idea where you'll stay?" Chris asked.

"Figure there has to be a motel around here somewhere," Gunther said. "We can always afford a couple of rooms."

"No need," Scott heard himself say, before he even thought about it. "I have a house. Not a ton of room, but you're all welcome to stay."

Allison and Lydia both gave him surprised looks. Gunther again looked wary. "That's awfully kind of you," he said. "You're not the average werewolf Alpha, are you?"

Scott shrugged, tried to look nonchalant. "That's what they keep telling me. I'll give you the address."

He turned his back on the Argents to walk over to Gunther. The Argents seemed to take this as a sign that the standoff was finally over. Chris turned to Victoria and asked her to start clearing the table, which she did without a word. He beckoned Allison over and he, Allison, and Kate left the dining room. Shortly after, Victoria left too, carrying a tray.

Scott shook his head, now facing Gunther. "We never actually had dinner," he said.

"Shame," Gunther said, looking down at the table. "I bet that Victoria's a great cook."

"Eh, not so much," Scott said. "I think they're all better at killing things than cooking them."

Gunther chuckled. "_Definitely_ not an average Alpha," he said. "You know, anywhere else, I'd have killed you for that little outburst earlier. I don't know how you'll feel about this, son, but I've killed more werewolves than any other person alive. Still think you picked the right side?"

Scott swallowed. "How many of them did you know personally?" he asked.

Gunther considered for a second. "None, I suppose."

Scott stuck out his hand, like he had earlier. "I'm Scott McCall," he said. "I play lacrosse, get lousy grades, don't really have parents to speak of, and I'm the Alpha of a pack of two that only manages to avoid violence like we'd like when we stay at least one hundred yards from the Argents. Now you know me personally."

"That doesn't mean I won't kill you," Gunther said, leaving Scott hanging. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for what you did back there, and that you're putting us up, but I just want to try and understand why _you're_ trusting _me._ My boys and I pretty much kill your kind for breakfast."

Scott nodded, kept his hand outstretched. "You took a chance on the girls," he said. "It's paid off because you discovered that they're as human as anyone, despite _what_ they are, right? If you can discover that about them, than maybe you can discover the same thing about us."

Gunther nodded, too, and finally accepted Scott's hand. "I guess that'll do. How about that address? We're all pretty tired."

Scott bent to write it down, but at that moment, Allison reentered the room, looking annoyed. "Lydia, why don't you give the Kages my address?" he said.

Lydia followed his gaze and nodded briskly. "Sure," she said.

Scott broke off from the huddled group of Kages and took Allison by the elbow, drawing her into the opposite corner of the room. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"My parents are kicking me out of the house," Allison said, sounding more annoyed than frightened or shocked.

"What?" Scott asked, his mouth hanging open slightly. _No way I heard that right_.

"It's a hunter thing," Allison said. "So they were going to pull it eventually. Kate told me about it a few weeks ago. It's this whole coming-of-age, survive without the herd kind of thing. I guess that seeing me point an arrow at him made my Dad decide it was time I came of age. Whatever that means."

Scott shook his head. "Whoa," he said. "Can they legally do that?"

Allison rolled her eyes slightly. "Scott, they shoot people. Regularly. They know how to get around laws."

"Point," Scott said. Allison cast her eyes down. "So," he continued, trying to act nonchalant. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," she said. "I mean, I don't have what you'd call a wealth of friends anymore. I doubt Lydia would appreciate me crashing at her place. I could always camp for a few days, until they come around."

Now Scott rolled his eyes at her. _I love it when I get to be the one who knows the obvious solution_, he thought. _I wonder if I paid more attention in school if this'd happen more often?_ "Or, you can come and stay at the house with us," he said.

Allison looked up at him, her eyes widening. "You mean – together?" she asked. "Isn't that kind of a big step?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah, it is," he said. "And I'd understand if you feel like it's too quick. I could always take the couch or whatever, but I still think it's the best solution."

Allison reached out and touched his face tenderly. "I don't think it's too fast," she said. She blushed. "I've never felt anything like this before. Nothing even close. I just want to be with you all the time."

"I know the feeling," Scott said, pulling Allison closer to drop his lips onto hers...only to hear Lydia clear her throat. Allison and Scott looked up, their little mini-trance broken, to see that the three Kages, the three girls, and Lydia were all staring at them. "Uh," Scott said. "Sorry."

"I'm calling Stiles," Lydia said. "They can follow us to your house. Are you coming?"

"We'll catch up," Scott said. Lydia quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, _we_. I'll explain later. Just get them over there. And try to keep Stiles from freaking out when you tell him what happened. He's going to be pissed we didn't call the second a gun came out."

Lydia was already turning back to the Kages. "Don't worry, I'll handle it."

"Come on," Allison said, taking Scott's hand. "I just need to grab a few things from my room. We can come back for the rest tomorrow." She lead him down the corridor, toward the stairs. "Did I hear a note of playfulness when Lydia said she'd 'handle' Stiles, or was that my imagination?"

"They're kind of a thing," Scott said. "I think. I don't know. I don't know if they know. Anyway, you know she can still hear us here, right?"

Allison paled. "Really?" Scott nodded. "Guess that little observation isn't going to score me any points with winning her trust back, is it?"

From the dining room, where Scott could hear the Kages still gathering their things, Lydia called, "Not so much, no."

Allison grimaced.

Before they could hit the staircase, they heard voices coming from the living room. "It's a terrible idea," Kate was saying. "She's just going to go to _him_ and make this whole mess worse."

Scott gave Allison an interested look and the two of them snuck over to living room instead of heading up the stairs. Chris was responding to Kate's statement. "You don't have any proof. You never bother with proof, do you, Kate?"

"The proof is right there if you're willing to look for it," Kate replied. She sounded stressed. "They're _mating_, Chris. You know what that means."

Scott and Allison both paled. _Well, that's a little old-fashioned in terminology, but no matter which way you swing it, cat's out of the bag_. To their surprise, Chris didn't sound shocked or angry. "The whole _mating_ thing is nothing but a myth. There's no where near enough empirical evidence to suggest that there's any basis at all for it. And, frankly, Scott and Allison don't have that kind of relationship."

Kate snorted. "_You_ don't want to face the idea that your seventeen-year-old daughter is getting laid," she said. Allison and Scott both winced. "You need to start opening your eyes. That rapid shift that Scott pulled at dinner wasn't a fluke. As soon as he saw my gun pointed at Allison he lost control, and if she hadn't been between the two of us he'd have killed me. I'm telling you, they're _mating_. He's obviously already under the influence, and it won't be long before shes starts feeling it, too. If she isn't already. I've _tried_ to talk to her about it but it's like she doesn't feel comfortable talking about sex with me or something."

"Imagine that," Victoria said, dryly.

There was a pause, during which they could practically hear Kate fume. "Look," she said. "This is going to be dangerous for both of them, but _especially for Allison_. I thought you cared about your daughter more than that."

"We care about our daughter," Chris said, and there was no mistaking that the edge was back. "Don't ever question that. It's just, what you're suggesting is based on angry fear-mongering. The only thing that keeps hunters alive when dealing with things like werewolves is separating fact from hysteria. Frankly, Kate, you're hysterical."

Another pause. "We'll see."

Before someone could come bursting out and find them there, Scott drew Allison away and up the stairs. Once they were in her room and had shut the door, Scott faced her. Her eyes were wide and confused, just like his. "Okay," he said. "Any idea what that was about?"

"I don't know," Allison said. "I feel like I read something about it somewhere while I was doing research, but I can't remember offhand. Anyway, my Dad said it's nothing, so we probably shouldn't worry about it."

"Your Dad doesn't have the most stellar track record right now," Scott replied. "And, as usual, I'm getting the feeling there's more going on with Kate than she's letting on. It's almost never a _lie_ out and out with her, just a bending of the truth, just enough to muck up the whole human lie detector thing. Bet that took a lot of practice."

"So we'll worry about it," Allison said. "We can worry tomorrow. Once the adrenaline wears off a little."

Scott cast her a worried look. "I just – I wonder if maybe it's not such a good idea for you stay with me," he said. "Kate said that what's happening is dangerous, especially for you. I don't want – I don't want to hurt you."

Allison closed the distance between them instantly. "I don't believe that you could," she said, her body almost pressing against Scott's she was so close. "I want this. Do you?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I want it. I want you."

Allison smiled at him. "I'm going to have to change out the dress to ride my motorcycle over to your place," she said. "And I was so looking forward to, well, _you know_, while still wearing it. Or half-wearing it, anyway."

Scott glanced at the bed. "That thing you did tonight with the bow was the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life," he said. Allison followed his gaze to the bed, and then both looked back at each other. "Do we dare?"

Allison reached forward and kissed Scott, and a second later he was running his hands over her back as she was hiking her dress up. "We'll have to make it quick," she said. She caught Scott's face and pushed him back so that she could look into his eyes. Hers were sparkling with mischief. "At least, it'll have to be quick while we're still _here._ Once we get back to your house I plan to give that werewolf endurance of yours a run for its money."

Scott grinned with equal mischief and the two of them collapsed back onto Allison's bed, kissing and pulling at each others' clothing.


	13. Twenty Questions

TWENTY QUESTIONS

Scott wasn't used to being shaken awake. Living in the Stilinski house, he'd grown accustomed to being up just before the sheriff and long before Stiles; it was therefore a surprise when he felt a pair of soft, delicate, but strong hands shaking his shoulder the next morning. He opened his eyes to find Allison's face about eight inches from his, her big brown eyes shining, her hair askew from the pillows. He stretched and then glanced at the window. The sun hadn't risen yet. "What time is it?"

"Five thirty," Allison replied. "This is when I get up to go for my morning run. I thought maybe you'd want to come."

"I get up earlier than anyone ever should myself," Scott said, grinning in spite of himself. "You're not human."

"It's only, like, a half hour earlier than when you usually would go out," she said.

Scott's brow furrowed. "How do you know about that?"

Allison blushed. "We, uh, followed you. A few times."

Scott's eyebrows danced. "Stalker chick, huh?"

Allison faked a grimace. "Guilty," she said. "I forgot to mention last night that we'd be moving the shrine with your picture, candles, and a lock of your hair from my room today? Sorry, _totally_ my bad."

Scott grinned. "Freaky. I could get to like that. Come on, let's get up."

The bed was pressed lengthwise against one wall of Scott's room, and Scott was against the wall. Allison darted a quick kiss onto the tip of his nose and rolled out of bed. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, which traveled halfway down her thighs; the rest of her legs were bare. "If this is going to be long-term, we need to think about getting a bigger bed."

Scott pushed off the wall and sat up on the side of the bed. "I don't know," he said, savoring the feeling of her body pressed against his as they slept the night before; truth be told, it'd felt so good to have her nestled against him without having to worry about a curfew or people walking in on them or anything else that he'd barely slept. "This arrangement has its advantages."

Allison was rummaging through the bag she'd hastily packed the night before after they'd finished making love on her bed at the Argent house. "I know I threw a track suit in here somewhere," she muttered. "Aha! Here it is." She pulled a pair of track pants and a sports bra out of the bag, laid them down on Scott's desk, then took hold of the tips of the t-shirt and peeled it off over her head.

She wasn't wearing anything beneath it. Scott's pace immediately quickened. He stood and walked slowly over to her, his muscles rippling in anticipation. "Allison?" he asked. "You run in the morning for exercise, right?" She nodded, unfolding the track pants. "What if I had a better idea for morning exercise?"

She turned slowly on her heel and swept her eyes up and down him. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else, and, he knew, there must have been a noticeable bulge in the front. She gave him a coy look. "I doubt you're having any ideas at all right now," she said. She stood up on the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear. "It doesn't look like the blood's flowing to your brain right now."

Scott shuddered. He felt his hands, almost involuntarily, snake their way onto Allison's skin, starting at her hips and wrapping around her back, pulling her in and pressing her body against his. She gasped slightly. He inclined his head forward, breathing heavily on her neck, inhaling the smell of her lingering perfume and sweat. When he moved his head back to look at her, his claws had sprouted and his teeth had elongated and, he knew, his eyes must be glowing red.

Instead of pulling back or even looking worried, Allison reached forward, and he felt her tongue, first on his lips, and then inside his mouth and – his breathing instantly quickened – then running over the sharp teeth that had sprouted in his mouth. He could only endure a second of that tease before he'd grabbed Allison roughly up, dropped her on the bed on her back, and climbed on top of her, slipping out of his own shorts as he went. The look on her face was pure flame, but still, Scott hesitated. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, conscious of how his speech was distorted, ever so slightly, by the change in his teeth.

"You haven't," Allison replied. "You won't. Not any more than I want you to."

Scott shuddered again. "I'm serious, Allison," he said, feeling every ounce of restraint in him tearing at every inch of his skin as he forced himself not to just keep going. "I love you. I'm – this frightens me."

"And it doesn't frighten me," Allison said. "Or at least, again, not any more than I want to be frightened. I love you and right now _I want you_."

To emphasize her point, Scott felt her left hand between their legs, taking sudden hold of him and squeezing gently, and his will to resist crumbled and was swallowed by the look in her eyes and then he was inside her, and again to emphasize her point Scott felt her other hand reach up to grab his hair and pull his face down directly to her neck, where Scott obligingly opened his mouth and ran his tongue and the very tips of his sharpened teeth over her skin, and when those teeth made contact with her skin he felt the shudder, the beautiful end-of-all-other-things shudder, start to form deep inside her, and though he didn't bite down – which, surprisingly, took little restraint, compared with the restraint he'd exerted a moment before – he continued his pattern of running teeth and tongue over skin as he thrust inside her and felt her first climax of the morning continue to build.

***[]***

When, quite some time later, Allison and Scott emerged, dressed in shorts and t-shirts and flushed and trying as hard as possible not to glow, they found one of Gunther's sons and one of the girls – _Lavinia, I think_, Allison thought – sitting at the kitchen table. Both had cups of coffee in front of them. The son looked up at them, a pensive look on his face. "There was coffee in the cupboard," he said to Scott. "I hope you don't mind."

Scott shook his head. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "If you made enough for me to have a cup too, you're fine." The son nodded to the counter, where the pot was still half full. As Scott headed over to the counter, Allison took a seat next to the son and across from Lavinia at the table.

Allison faced the son. "I'm sorry, I know Gunther introduced all of you last night, but, you know, other events kind of took prominence," she said. "I'm Allison. What's your name?"

"Declan," the young man replied, inclining his mug of coffee by way of greeting.

"And you're Lavinia, right?" Allison asked, looking kindly at the young woman with long, jet-black hair. As she looked Allison reflected that it seemed to all hang in gently curving lines straight down her head, some of it covering her face. _Kind of scene_, she thought.

"Nia," she responded, her voice low and smoky. "Do you always have that much sex in the morning?"

Scott, who'd just poured himself a cup of coffee, choked on it. "I'd tell you that you'll get used to that," Declan said, sounding unfazed by Nia's odd question. "But truth is, if you're like me at all, you won't."

Nia turned to look at Declan. "When we met I asked you about your masturbatory habits, not about copulation," she said, her words all measured and precise. "They are two very separate things, Declan."

Declan just sighed and shook his head. Scott managed to recover enough to speak. "I'm sorry, were we that loud? I didn't mean – I mean, if it made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

Nia's face clouded. "Why do people always assume I'm uncomfortable when I ask questions?" she asked. "All physical indications right now are that _you_ are uncomfortable, not me."

Declan turned to face Allison and Scott. "Don't let Nia get to you," he said. "She likes to pretend sometimes that she wasn't raised around people, but she was. According to Sophie and Bridget she's always been like this."

Scott, still a little wide eyed, carried his cup of coffee over to the table and swung a chair around to sit on it backward. "So you all didn't grow up together?" he asked.

"Nope," Declan replied. "We actually only met about a month ago. Dad never mentioned his, uh, other family to Curtis and me."

"He told us about you," Nia said, every word measured again, almost dripping off her tongue.

Declan sighed again. "I know, Nia," he said, shaking his head slowly. His honey-colored hair was very close-cropped, but it still wavered slightly as he shook his head. "You've mentioned that."

An awkward silence followed. Scott shot a helpless look at Allison. _Oh, you baby_, she thought. She turned again to Nia. "So, what is it that you can do, exactly?" she asked. "Anything beyond the whole pheromone thing?"

"She can get you drunker than a skunk," a voice from behind them said. Gunther, fully dressed, was standing in the doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"Anyone with a keg can do that," Scott replied.

"Not just by touching you, they can't," Gunther replied.

"Oh," Scott said.

Gunther crossed over. "Nia, honey, you're wearing your gloves, right?"

Nia inclined her head up to meet Gunther's gaze. Allison's eyes traveled over her person; come to think of it, her dress from the night before and the nightgown she now wore both covered almost all of her skin. She now took her hands out of her lap and laid them on the table and Allison saw that Nia was wearing evening gloves. "Yes, father," she said.

Gunther laid a hand on her shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. "Good girl," he said. "You only have to wear them here while we get acclimated."

"I know, father."

Scott's brow had furrowed. "So it's involuntary?" he asked. "Like, if I touch her skin, I get drunk, even if she doesn't want me to?"

Gunther frowned, looked down at Declan and Nia. "Would you kids excuse us for a second?" he asked. "I think Scott and I have some talking to do."

Declan nodded and rose wordlessly, Nia trailing behind him. Gunther looked pointedly at Allison, but Scott shook his head. "I'd prefer she stayed."

Gunther shrugged, settling gently into the chair Declan had occupied. "Have it your way," he said. "I'm sure you've got questions. Now's as good a time as any."

Scott nodded, picked up his coffee. _He's trying to look casual_, Allison thought. _I bet Gunther is armed. And I'm not. Do I have to be armed in this house at all times? Is that the life I've chosen here?_ As though he could read her thoughts, Scott's free hand found hers and squeezed. "Last night you made it seem like they have themselves completely under control," he said. "That's not what that sounded like."

"You're a werewolf, right?" Gunther asked. Scott nodded. "And on the full moon, you transform against your will and are overcome by blood lust?" Scott nodded again. "But I bet you lock yourself up, for everyone else's protection, and you call that under control. Nia wears clothing that covers the majority of her body, as well as those damn gloves, whenever she's around people don't know not to touch her. I'd say that conforms to the same kind of definition of 'under control' that you're using, wouldn't you?"

"Fair enough," Scott replied. "Any other surprises?"

Gunther leaned back in his chair. "Well, frankly, kid, I don't know what's gonna be a surprise and what isn't," he said. "Sounded last night like you don't know fuck all about nymphs. How about you, dear?"

The last question was directed at Allison, and despite his gruff-but-friendly tone, she could recognize the way her father would occasionally quiz her. _Guess training isn't going to let up, either._ "Nymphs are ancient creatures," Allison said. "First documented in ancient Greece. They're notorious for luring people with pheromone-driven sexual desire and then killing them. They're kill-on-sight because it typically takes their pheromones only a minute to begin effecting the mind of someone in their vicinity, and there aren't any recorded encounters between hunters and nymphs that didn't end in one or the other being dead." Gunther nodded, looking impressed. Scott was more than impressed; he was gaping. "What? I told you I've been studying."

Slowly, Scott closed his mouth, but then he spoke. "So what was all that stuff about 'they can't control it' last night?" he asked.

_Ugh, now he's going to think I'm Encyclopedia Allison_. "I'm kind of not sure about that," she said. "I haven't read _everything_. Yet."

Gunther jumped in. "The old line on nymphs is that they don't consciously control their actions," he said. "The idea is that whenever they're in sight of prey, they go into a kind of trance and don't have the ability to resist luring them and killing them."

Scott snorted. "That does sound familiar," he said.

Gunther shook his head. "They do feel, er, compulsions," he admitted. "Sophie and Bridget more than Nia, but not one of them has ever hurt anyone. The compulsions only started a few years ago; probably a puberty thing, not that I'd say that in front of them. Embarrass the the hell out of the poor girls to have their dad talking about puberty, especially with a boy present."

Allison quirked an eyebrow. "Their dad?" she asked.

Gunther waved her off. "Not the nitty-gritty kind," he said. "Like I said last night, I found them when they were babies. Sophie and Bridget were sisters and their mother was definitely dead. Nia, I couldn't really tell about, but there wasn't much left alive in that town aside from maggots and mice."

"What was this massacre all about?" Scott asked.

"The usual," Gunther replied, staring at him with a hard expression. "Bunch of hunters found a bunch of nymphs living just outside a small town called Petersburg in Oregon. Busted 'em up and left. I was passing through, and – it's kind of embarrassing to admit this, but I'm kind of a perfectionist, and sometimes I check other peoples' work, make sure they got the job done right. And that's how I found those three. I knew what the risks were, but I couldn't leave 'em, and anyway, nymphs compel you _sexually_ and the three of them were just babies. I'll admit, I was worried about whether they had powers they couldn't control even at that age, because _boy_ would that have been creepy beyond belief, but it turned out there wasn't much different about them then. Except the wings."

_What?_ "Pardon?" Scott asked, echoing Allison's silent surprise.

Gunther grinned. "Lots of people don't know about nymphs, on account of no one bothers to stop and talk and look before shooting 'em and burning the bodies." He raised his voice slightly. "Sophie, I know you're listening in on us anyway, so why don't you come in here, hon?"

A second later, one of the other girls from the previous night stepped around the corner and into the kitchen. She had a mousy look about her, short and skinny and light-brown hair that was full enough despite the early hour that Allison was a little jealous. "Sorry," Sophie muttered, avoiding their gazes.

Gunther's smile was all-knowing and amused. "'Sokay, hon," he said. "You wearin' a shirt that you can show these folks your wings in?"

Sopie nodded. Allison spared a quick glance at her attire – she wore a simple, gray, slightly loose t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants. Before she could think any further, something black and deep purple began to emerge from behind Sophie, whose eyes had slid shut. After an initial slow start, Sophie's mostly-purple wings spread quickly out. Each wing was in two sections, outlined in black, purple on the interior, shot with small swirls of navy blue. They kept expanding outward, past where Allison initially thought they'd stop, until they were big enough to wrap around Sophie and another person easily. They finally stopped expanding and Sophie opened her eyes, looking shy and fluttering them slightly.

Allison looked to her side. Scott was clearly a little awed too. "No kidding," he managed to say.

"A little surprising the first time you see them, I know," Gunther said. "You can imagine what I thought the first time one of 'em hauled the wings out. 'Course, that was Bridget, and she was three, and hers are red, not purple, but, you know, same difference."

"And does Nia have...?" Allison asked. Sophie inclined her head once and glanced directly at her, then blushed and looked away. _What's that about?_

"No," Gunther replied. "No, Nia doesn't have wings. Nia's not the same kind of nymph as Sophie and Bridget. The two o' them are psychai nymphs."

Scott looked at Allison, who shrugged. "Don't look at me," she said.

"Don't sweat it, it's not like this stuff is written in the usual hunter reads," Gunther said. "Took me forever to track down the information to put a name to the whole thing. Psychai, according to legend, are the descendents of Iphigenia, the daughter that Agamemnon sacrificed so he and his buddies could go start the Trojan War. Apparently, Iphigenia – through her mom's side – was related to Cupid and Psyche. I don't suppose I have to tell you who they were. Anyway, Iphigenia was sacrificed to Artemis, and her daughters wound up thereafter being handmaidens of Artemis, which is kinda ironic since Artemis was a virgin. Between having Cupid as their great-great-great times infinite grandfather and the whole 'favored by Artemis' thing the psychai wound up with a whole boatload of weird abilities, including the butterfly wings and the pheromones."

"That's – wow, that's quite a story," Scott said.

"Yeah, and it's probably mostly bunk," Gunther replied. "Still, the legends and stuff are important to them, and it's not like I've got a better explanation." He looked over at Sophie. "You can put your wings away now, honey."

With a slight woosh, Sophie's wings disappeared. "Incredible," Allison said, trying hard not to stare. "And – uh, where do they go?"

"For a while I figured they were like werewolves," Gunther said. "You know, with the extra things like claws and teeth and hair just popping up out of nowhere, but then Sophie here cut up her back pretty bad playing in a rose bush and we found out that their wings are always there. That membrane their wings are made of is real thin – it compresses and sits beneath the skin of their backs. You'd never be able to tell to look at them."

"Fascinating," Allison said. After a second, she realized that despite her previous attempt not to stare, she was, and Sophie was staring back at her. "Sorry, I don't mean to stare," Allison said to her. "It's just, this is all a little incredible."

Sophie looked meekly up at Allison, blushed again, and then looked over at her father. "Sorry for listening in," she said. "Can I go now?"

"Sure thing, hon," he replied, giving her a smile. Once she'd exited the kitchen he faced Allison and Scott again. "Sophie and Bridget are a little skittish around new people. Never had that problem with Nia, but God knows what's going on in her head half the time. They'll warm up to you eventually and then you won't be able to shut them up."

Scott exhaled slowly. "Okay," he said. "Wings. Pheromones. Sounds good. Anything else?"

Gunther scratched at the table. "Just one," he said. "Something you should probably know, about them losing control. It's – uh, predictable, sometimes."

"Predictable?" Scott asked.

"Yeah," Gunther said. "Not always. Sometimes it happens totally random, no reason. But there's one time you can always count on them to go off."

"When's that?" Scott asked.

"Can't you guess?" he asked. "Full moon."

Scott sighed. "Of course," he said. "As if that night wasn't already complicated enough."

"We always keep the three of them away from boys on full moons," Gunther said. "Thank God none of 'em are lesbians 'cause who _knows_ how that'd have gone, locking them up together the one night they have no control."

"Sounds like the plot of a bad porno flick," Scott observed.

Gunther frowned at him. "Those are my daughters you're talking about," he said.

Scott shrugged. "Didn't mean to offend," he said. "If it's any consolation, _my_ life pretty much _is_ the plot of a bad horror novel. I'd trade that for bad porno flick any day of the week."

Gunther looked between the two of them and Allison suddenly felt uncomfortable. _Yeah, we were definitely too loud._ "You know, I bet you would take the plot of a bad porno flick," he said. He leaned forward. "Uh, listen – does Chris know that you two are – well, together?"

Scott looked at Allison, who shrugged. "No," Scott said. "At least, he didn't. We don't think. Anyway, it's not like we can stop him from finding out now. And we're stick of hiding it, so I figure, whatever."

"Not 'whatever,'" Gunther said. "I hate this obsession your generation has with 'whatever.' It's a bitter enough pill to swallow when you find out your daughter's a young lady and she's falling in love or not a virgin anymore – or both – but throw in the, 'Daddy, my boyfriend turns into a psycho killer sometimes, but it's not his _fault_,' and you've got a recipe for one pissed off hunter daddy."

Scott leaned forward. "Whatever," he said, very deliberately. "Chris is going to have to learn to deal with some things. That's what compromise is about. Lydia and I were willing to work with them and submit to their supervision, to make them more comfortable, and in return they would start thinking of us as humans with a werewolf problem and not as killer werewolves who might have consciences sometimes. That hasn't changed."

"After last night?" Gunther asked.

Scott sat back in his chair, trying to maintain his casual air. "I don't know," he admitted. "I hope so."

Gunther shook his head. "If you really want him to come around, you might not want him to find out you're nailing his daughter so loud it wakes the whole house," Gunther said, and both Allison and Scott instantly turned red. "I'm not judgin' you myself – whole new world of possibilities in this crazy town I'm gonna have to get used to, and the hunter's daughter who sleeps with the Alpha werewolf's just one of the more poetically twisted ones."

"I'm a hunter, too," Allison said. _Well, that didn't sound too pathetic._ "I'm not just a hunter's daughter."

Gunther gave her a sideways look. "And how many things have you killed?" Allison hung her head. "Ah, don't get your head down. It's not a competition, and it sure as hell ain't a race. Still, you want respect when you're running with other hunters, you'll want to put a few notches in that bow of yours first."

Scott's eyes were narrowing during this whole speech. _Uh oh_, Allison thought. _Not good._ "And how many notches do you have in your shotgun?" he asked, the forced casual tone in his voice taking on a sickly sweet edge.

The edge in Scott's voice wasn't lost on Gunther. "It's a figure of speech," he replied. "I don't actually keep count. Like I said, it's not a competition. It's about killing evil things before they can hurt innocent people."

"Yeah? And how many of those 'evil things' do you suppose were really innocent people themselves?"

"Okay, timeout," Allison said. Gunther and Scott looked around at her. "We're on the same side here," she said. "We may have some, er, differences, but if we start shooting at each other while we're not sure my Dad's one hundred percent on board, we'll just weaken ourselves. If this thing that's coming is really so bad we need to be as strong as possible to fight it, and that means working together."

Gunther smiled, sardonically. "Little lady's got some spunk, I'll give her that," he said. He looked back at Scott. "I don't know you from shit, Alpha, but I'm willing to try trusting you. Sound okay?"

Scott nodded. "Sounds fine," he replied. "I'm nothing but a big bundle of trust."

Gunther pushed back from the table and stood. "Good," he replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some errands to attend to. You and the Argents aren't the only people in this town I know, and I have an old friend I need to drop in on."

He nodded briskly and exited the room.

***[]***

Scott glanced at the clock. "I should get going too, actually," he said, standing too. "I'm heading over to Dr. Deaton's to beg for my job back. Part of the whole emancipation thing. I'm going to go throw on some actual clothes."

"I think I'll make some breakfast. Want anything?"

"Nah. I'm good."

Scott bounded up the stairs and back into his room. His thoughts were on Gunther and the argument until his eyes wandered over his bed, the sheets torn in several places, and he smiled. He kicked off the shorts and t-shirt he'd applied to wear around and started rummaging through his closet for something half respectable. _Or at least clean_.

He heard a couple of car doors slam outside and initially didn't think anything of it. After a second, though, he heard footsteps on the walk out front, and then the doorbell. His eyes widened. Still holding a polo shirt instead of wearing it, he jumped all the way down the stairs and rounded the corner into the living room, saying "Allison! Don't!" just as she reached forward and pulled the door open.

Sheriff Stilinski, flanked by Stiles, stood in the doorway. Allison was clearly surprised, but said quickly, "Hello, Sheriff."

The sheriff's eyes traveled quickly up and down Allison, taking in the ratty clothes she was wearing (which clearly were Scott's and not hers), and he raised an eyebrow. "Good_ morning_, Allison," he said, adding extra emphasis to the word 'morning.' "You're here really early."

Allison looked lost for words as she realized all he'd figured out just from getting a look at her. Scott jumped in to rescue her. "Hello, Sheriff," he said. "Is there a problem?"

The sheriff's eyes changed course from Allison to Scott. His eyebrow raised further and Scott realized he was still shirtless, holding the polo clutched in his hand. _Oh, great_. "I'm honestly not sure," he replied. "Do you have anything you need to explain?"

Allison blushed, but Scott managed to keep hold of himself. "We went for a walk after dinner last night and it was easier and safer to crash here."

Slowly, the sheriff nodded. "Stiles heard a similar story from Lydia," he said. "Although she didn't mention that Allison had tagged along."

"I couldn't let her sleep outside."

Again, it took the sheriff a moment of contemplation to reply. "I suppose not," he said. "Listen, I was supposed to bring you over to the clinic to ask for your job back. Remember?"

"I remember," Scott said, pulling the polo shirt hastily over his head. "Hence the neat clothes."

Now the sheriff looked him up and down, taking in Scott's slightly wrinkled khaki pants and the red-and-green striped polo shirt. "Right," he said.

"What?"

The sheriff shook his head, a bemused expression on his face. "I'm sure Dr. Deaton is a laid back guy," he said. "Or else you'd never have landed that job with him in the first place. Just make sure to let someone else pick out your clothes for prom, okay?"

Scott smiled. "I'm pretty sure Lydia's already got all our wardrobes picked out for prom."

The sheriff inclined his head to peer into the house. "I noticed a car out front I didn't recognize," he said. "Do you have other company?"

_Why does he have to be so observant?_ "Kind of," Scott said. "They're, uh, like family. But not. Family friends. Really torn up about Mom. Wanted to come visit."

The sheriff looked at him, disbelief in his eyes again. After a moment of silent thought, he looked at Allison. "We should probably get going," he said. "It was good to see you, Allison."

She smiled, clearly still awkward. "Good to see you too, sheriff."

Scott tugged the shirt on over his head as the sheriff and Stiles stepped back from the doorway. Allison was beginning to turn away when he grabbed her hand and pulled her over for a quick kiss, which she returned, although not without a sardonic glance. _Okay, so we're _really_ going to have work on this living together thing_, Scott thought. _I wonder if there are self-help books for emancipated werewolf minors moving in with their outcast, supernatural-creature-killing, teenage girlfriends._ As Scott shut the front door behind them, he shot a significant look at Stiles, who just shrugged, as if to say, "what did you expect me to do about it?"

When the three of them reached the sheriff's SUV, Stiles reached for the front passenger door, but the sheriff waved him off. "Why don't you let Scott ride shotgun? We should talk about some things on the way there."

Stiles retracted his hand wordlessly and pulled open one of the back doors instead, climbing inside. Now worried, Scott pulled open the door Stiles had just reached for and climbed inside, too. The sheriff was the last in, and he started the car and pulled away from the McCall house quickly. Despite what he'd said, he didn't bring anything up on the way to the clinic.

When they arrived, the sheriff killed the engine and then sat without moving behind the wheel. Scott and Stiles both moved to get out, but the sheriff caught Scott's arm. "Stiles, could you give us a minute?" the sheriff asked. Stiles nodded, wordless again, and climbed out of the truck, moving to stand against the side of the building. Scott looked around at the sheriff to see a worried look on his face. _This can't be good_. "Scott, I meant every word when I said I trust you to handle being emancipated," he started. _This really can't be good. The biggest 'but' in the world is about to rear its ugly head._ "But you have to understand that all that back there has me worried."

Scott nodded, slowly, trying to pretend like he fully understood. "Don't worry, Sheriff," he said. "I can handle it."

The sheriff grimaced. "It's not a matter of you 'handling it,' Scott, it's a matter of you getting into trouble because you were doing things you weren't prepared for. Okay, look," the sheriff said, looking away, "are you and Allison at least using protection?"

_Oh, you've got to be kidding me. _"Yes," Scott stuttered out, after a second. "Yeah, of course we're – you know."

The sheriff shook his head, still looking away. "I know that teenagers are going to get up to these kinds of things these days," he said. "Even Stiles, probably, and up until this past year I really didn't think that'd be a concern with him, you know what I mean? But it's not like you and Allison are doing this because you're, uh, troubled. You're doing it because it's natural for kids who are in love to, um, experiment. But still, I worry about you, Scott. I know that asking you if you and Allison are okay isn't really a fair question, but – well, are you and Allison okay?"

Scott's eyebrows were in danger of creeping off the top of his head. "Yeah, Sheriff," he said. "Yeah, we're fine. Totally safe."

The Sheriff nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'm going to trust you, Scott." He reached for the door and stepped out.

Scott took a second to reach for his own door, his brow furrowed. _I seem to be hearing that more and more_, he thought. He took a deep breath and opened the door, pushing out of the car.

Stiles shot him a questioning look but Scott shook his head, hoping that Stiles realized he meant that it was nothing bad. The three of them entered the animal clinic. As per usual, no one was out front in the waiting room, but Scott could instantly hear voices in the back. One was Dr. Deaton's familiar, reassuringly measured tone. The other was Gunther's.

Scott paled instantly. _He must have parked around back,_ he thought. _Must be a hunter thing._ "Dr. Deaton always stays out back," Scott said, stepping front of the sheriff and Stiles. "I'll go find him."

Before either of them could say anything, Scott turned, hopped the counter, and proceeded into the back of the animal clinic. _So, do I sneak up on them like the preternatural beast I am, or do I make tons of noise so they're not spooked?_ Scott thought. _Well, Gunther probably has a half dozen weapons concealed on him, so let's go with option two._ He made an effort to make his footfalls sound and started tapping his hands on the wall as he walked, making enough noise that the conversation petered out as he got closer.

When he rounded the corner, both Deaton and Gunther were looking at him. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't meant to interrupt, but I didn't want to sneak up on you either. Remember, I called to ask if I could come in the other day?"

Dr. Deaton didn't miss a beat at having been walked in on talking to the old hunter. "Of course I remember, Scott," he said, warmly. "And before you ask, there's no problem in giving you your old job back. I've been running myself ragged around here trying to do everything you did, and the notion of having to train a new employee was too...depressing, to pursue."

Scott's eyebrows raised again. "That's it?" he asked. "I can just have my job back?"

"Well, I imagine the sheriff has some paperwork for me to sign, about your emancipation," Dr. Deaton replied. "But yes. That's all it takes. You'll always be welcome here so long as you remain who you are, Scott."

Gunther remained silent through this exchange, watching Scott's reactions. _Well, that last statement wasn't too pointed._ "So, you two know each other?" he asked.

"We did some, er, work together, back in the day," Gunther replied. "The doctor here is a very knowledgeable man."

"Yes, I know," Scott said, looking back at Deaton. "Although I don't know really how knowledgeable he is."

"Please, gentlemen, you'll make me blush," Deaton said, not without sarcasm. "I just do my part. Gunther, I believe we were done here, correct?"

Gunther looked around at the examination room's pristine walls. "Yeah, suppose so," he replied. "You sure the stuff will work?"

"No, I'm not sure at all," Deaton replied, looking annoyed. "I explained that twice. We're in very new territory here, so we're going to have to be very careful and _experiment_ a bit. Yes?"

Gunther shook his head. "Yeah, I got you," he said, glumly. "Thanks, doc." He turned and walked out the back.

Scott looked after him. "What was that about?" he asked.

Deaton smiled warmly again. "I'm sure you'll find out on your own," he said. "And it's really more for Gunther to tell you than me. Suffice to say it is nothing that will bring you harm. Anyway, I'm sure you'd rather discuss getting back to work."

Scott opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. _No, I'd rather find out more about you_, he thought. _But I _need_ the job, so I don't want to piss you off_. "Sure," he said.

Deaton smiled a knowing smile. "There will be time for all manner of discussion over the coming months," he said. "Let's go meet the sheriff and sign that paperwork."

***[]***

Lydia arrived at the animal shelter a few minutes later, just as Stiles, Scott, and the sheriff were coming out. "Hey, everyone," she said, waving. "You guys ready?"

"Ready for what?" the sheriff asked, casting looks between his son and Scott.

"Nothing heavy," Stiles said. "We're just going to hang out."

"When will you be home?"

Stiles looked at Scott. "Uh," he said.

"You're not planning on coming back to the house, are you, Scott?" he asked. "Remember, we agreed you'd move back to your house next week."

"I know," Scott said, scratching the back of his head. _Werewolf Alpha with a nervous habit, _Lydia thought. _Wonders never cease._ "It's just, sleeping back at my house again kind of felt good. I'd like to do it again, you know?"

The sheriff seemed to fight down his initial reaction. "Okay," he said, breathing out slowly. "Okay, I'll sign off on this. Just – you know, be careful, Scott. I'll see you later, Stiles."

He got into his truck and drove away. As soon as he was in, Stiles broke out in a giant grin, while Scott looked mildly mortified. "Okay, what did I miss?" Lydia asked.

Scott opened his mouth to respond, but Stiles beat him to the punch. "My dad totally caught Allison and Scott barely dressed," he said. "You should have seen the look on her face once she realized she was wearing Scott's clothes and she still had bed-head. I'd have framed it if that were possible."

"It's not funny," Scott said. While there was a playful tone in his voice, there was an underlying note of stress that Lydia couldn't help but detect. _I wonder if something's up, or if this is just the usual level of Scott-stress_, Lydia wondered.

"It was _really_ funny," Stiles said to Lydia. He turned back to Scott. "Anyway, if you're going to date _Allison_ again after everything, you're going to have to get used to me enjoying her extreme discomfort. Making her make that face is one of two things I want for my birthday." He took on a mock secretive whisper. "I can't tell you the other thing because it involves Lydia, a step ladder, and a sex act that's banned in forty-two states." Lydia punched his arm as he started to laugh. He kept laughing, but he rubbed at the spot, muttering, "ouch."

"Enough sex talk," Scott said, and the note of stress was definitely there again.

"What's wrong, Scott?" Lydia asked.

Scott looked away. "It's nothing."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Good job, Mayor Obvious," he said. "Whenever someone asks if something's wrong, and you answer 'it's nothing,' that always means it's something. Don't you watch TV?"

"Not really."

"Really, Scott," Lydia said, allowing the sarcastic edge to drain from her voice even as she gave Stiles a reproachful look. "Something's bothering you. What is it?"

"It's - " he started to say. "Okay, look, if you want me to talk about this, I just need you to understand it involves lots of, er, details. You know. _Details_."

Lydia nodded to her mother's car. "Come on, let's jump in and talk on the way."

The three of them climbed inside, Lydia and Stiles in front and Scott in the middle back. He leaned forward to speak to them as Lydia put the car in gear and pulled out of the animal clinic's parking lot. "So, details," she said. "I think we can handle that. Stiles has downloaded enough porn for him to write a new-millennium version of the Kama Sutra, and it's not like I haven't been around that block once or twice, so you're not in danger of shocking us. Let us have it. What's bothering you?"

"I started to shift when Allison and I had sex this morning."

_Oh. Oh, dear._ "Um," Lydia said, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road. _Think of something to say or he's going to think you're shocked!_ "That's...interesting."

Scott snorted. "Not the word I'd choose," he said. "And she made a big deal about how it doesn't scare her, but – okay, something else happened after dinner failed to happen last night. We overheard Kate and Chris talking about how Allison and I are _mating_."  
"What century are they from?" Lydia asked, glad to be able to joke about something.

"I don't know, it sounded like it meant something different to them," Scott said. "Like 'mating' is hunter code for some freakish thing that happens when werewolves have sex. Kate was making a big deal about how it's dangerous for us, especially for Allison. Chris seemed to think she was full of shit."

"Go figure," Stiles said. "Maybe that's because she's, I don't know, actually full of shit?"

"I know," Scott said. "But, you know, I worry. Kate's the only human we know who's ever had sex with a werewolf. What if she knows something Chris doesn't?"

"We could always ask her," Lydia said. The silence from Scott and Stiles was deafening. "Okay, I know, we can't just ask her. But maybe Allison could."

Scott seemed to think for a second. "You know, that's not a bad idea," he said. "It's not like Kate doesn't already know about me and Allison, and Kate's been bugging Allison for a while now to tell her about her sex life. That could definitely work."

They pulled up to a stop light. Lydia looked back around at Scott. "Just remember, it's still _Kate_ that the information is coming from," she said. "I wouldn't trust it. Even if she's telling the truth, she'll find a way to twist it to make it sound as bad as possible."

"Yeah," Scott said. "I guess in the meantime I just need to work on self-control. You know, more. Hey, does this ever happen to you?"

Stiles and Lydia darted a quick look at each other, embarassed. "We have kissed, Scott," she said, in a clipped tone. "Only a few times. We have not progressed to the sort of thing you and Allison are up to. I've told you that, but if you're going to insist on prying into our sex life, I could always set it up to call you when we're going to have sex. Or during, if that would be more convenient."

Stiles darted another look at her. "You said 'when' we're going to have sex, not 'if,'" he said.

Lydia blushed furiously. "I regret bringing this up."

Scott grimaced. "My fault," he said. "Sorry. I don't mean to pry. Let's change the subject. Where are we going?"

"Well, I figured we could get some of our preliminary school shopping done," she said. "I already went shopping for new outfits the other day, but I still need to pick up pencils and all that stuff. You guys haven't done any of that without me, have you?"

Stiles shook his head, but Scott was gaping at her. "School shopping?" he asked, stupidly. "As in, for school?"

"Yes, Scott, for school," Lydia said, pulling into the parking lot for the local mall. "Junior year starts in a week and a half. Remember?"

Scott shook his head. "No," he said. "I didn't remember. Geez, school. As if we didn't have enough to deal with." He suddenly brightened. "Maybe now that I'm emancipated I could drop out."

"Giving you more time to run around almost getting killed?" Lydia asked. She'd put a hand on the handle to the car door, but she didn't open it.

"What's the point of school, anyway?" he asked, sounding far off. "The only thing I'm always going to be is, you know, _this_." He held up a hand with claws sprouting slightly. He instantly shifted his hand back.

Lydia turned around in her seat again. "Is that true of me, too, then?" she asked.

Scott waved her off. "Of course not," he said. "I mean, yeah, you'll always be a werewolf, but you can be a lot more than that, Lydia." He grinned. "You could be the first werewolf in space."

Lydia opened the car door and started to step out. "Now you're making fun of me."

Scott and Stiles followed quickly. "Not really," Scott said, as the three fell into step toward the mall entrance. "You need to be really fit, right? Who on Earth is more fit than we are? And you've definitely got the brain."

"Plus, astronauts have to be hot," Stiles threw in. "You know, for the press stuff. You've got hot covered."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "And what about the full moon?"

Scott and Stiles looked at each other. "Huh," Scott said. "I mean, there isn't exactly a 'full moon' or a waning or waxing moon in space, is there? I wonder what that'd be like for one of us."

"Could be the cure," Stiles said. "Living in space. No full moon to drive you bonkers."

"Or it could be like the full moon all the time," Lydia said. "Nothing to obstruct it. And I can only imagine what going through a full moon transformation in a tiny little tin can in the middle of _space_ would be like."

"Suppose you're right."

The mall they'd gone to was a relatively squat structure, boasting about two dozen stores. It had only one floor, a main entrance, and an entrance through Sears. Lydia steered them over the weed-choked pavement to the main entrance. "So, Staples?"

After a few minutes of looking through bins of school supplies, Scott caught Lydia and Stiles' gazes. "I need a new backpack," he said. "Tore mine up out in the woods. I'm going to go find them at Sears. Meet you guys in a half hour?"

Lydia nodded, checking the time on her phone.

She was looking through highlighters and wondering if she should purchase more than the standard yellow for her notes when she felt Stiles take hold of her elbow. "You think Scott is out of hearing range?" he asked.

She looked around and focused her ears, straining for Scott's now-familiar heartbeat. "I can't even hear his heartbeat," she said, after a second. "Doesn't necessarily mean anything. He can still hear better than I can. What's wrong?"

Stiles shook his head, tossing a bent file folder back into the bin it came from. "I'm just worried," he said.

Lydia patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about Scott," she said. "We've got his back. Allison's even acting like a halfway decent person. I told you about her drawing on her dad last night, remember? Scott's always going to be stressed. He takes all the weight of everything on his shoulders and tries not to let the rest of us have any of it. The trick to being us is getting him to give up a little of it so we can help him through."

Stiles chuckled, without mirth, picking up the bent file folder again. It was a very deep purple. "Any idea how to get him to 'give up' a little of the Allison drama?" he asked. "Maybe get them to agree to only go to third base?"

"We do it like we did in the car," Lydia said, cutting past Stiles' sarcasm. "He's _worried_, Stiles, but the problem is that we don't know if, you know, _shifting during sex_ is something that's natural for werewolves. If it is natural and it's not going to turn into anything bad, then there you go, nothing bad will happen, but he doesn't _know_, and that's what's bothering him so much."

Stiles smiled lightly. "I don't know what I did for insight into this kind of thing before we got to be friends," he said, with an admiring glance.

She smiled coyly back. "Friends?" she asked. "Is that what we are?"

Stiles' brow furrowed instantly and he again dropped the file folder, although this time it missed the bucket and fluttered to the dirty linoleum floor. "Yeah, about the sex thing," he said.

_Oh, no. I am so _not_ having this conversation in Staples._ "Can we talk about this later?" Lydia asked.

"When Scott is around to make it super awkward?" Stiles asked.

"I can smell when he and Allison have had sex," Lydia said. "He'll _definitely_ be able to smell when we do. You might as well get used to that level of awkward now."

"There you go with 'when' again," Stiles said, but he managed to grin bravely. "You're assuming an awful lot about me there, missy."

Lydia's face contorted, but when Stiles stood firm by the joke, she squared her shoulders towards him and then, slowly and deliberately, reached and unbuttoned her jeans and, moving so slowly the zipper clicked on each tooth, dragged the zipper to the bottom. This left her jeans hanging open enough for Stiles to get a look at her panties. "What are you thinking about right now?" she asked.

Stiles was staring. _Practically drooling_. "You make the best points ever," he said.

A sales associate came into their peripheral vision lugging a box the word "Three-Ring Binders" written across it. Lydia hastily zipped and re-buttoned her pants. "The point is that, at some point in our relationship, we're going to have sex," Lydia said. "It's a natural thing. I don't see any harm in stating it plainly."

"There's no_ harm_ in it," Stiles said, quickly. "It's just – I don't know, I never pictured a girl taking it for granted that she's going to want to have sex with me."

She reached up and brushed his cheek. "The insecurity thing is kinda cute," she said.

"Really?" Stiles asked. "Because I could dredge up loads more insecurity if that turns you on. I could be the most insecure thing ever. I could be the opposite of Alcatraz."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "And I can put up with the sense of humor."

***[]***

With a few rudimentary supplies purchased, Scott, Lydia, and Stiles made their way back to the McCall house. When they arrived, Scott heard a familiar series of sounds – a snap, followed by a whistle, followed by a dull thud. Lydia clearly heard it too and so understood when Scott told them to head in and introduce themselves around to anyone they hadn't met the night before while he circled to the backyard.

He stood for a few minutes, watching Allison, now wearing her track suit, drill arrow after arrow into a target crudely hung from one of the many narrow, fuzzy-looking short trees in Scott's backyard. When she ran out of arrows, Allison looked around and saw Scott. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

"Few minutes," he said. "I'm not your only audience. Craig and Declan are on the first floor, having an argument about whether Craig should come out here and 'show you a few things,' which I'm gathering is probably a euphemism, and – I think – Sophie and Bridget are on the second floor, watching from my mom's old room."

"You think?" Allison asked.

"I haven't gotten the chance to lock down all the newbies' heartbeats, but it sounded last night like Sophie and Bridget's hearts beat a little faster than everyone else's. Anyway, they're not saying anything."

Allison glanced up at the house quickly and then looked back to Scott, leaning on her bow like a crutch. "Think they can hear?" she asked.

Scott glanced at the house too. "No one's mentioned super-hearing on them, and the window's closed," he said. "So probably not. What's up?"

Allison glanced at the house again. "Just a weird feeling," she said. "Both of them kind of stare at me."

Scott shrugged. "Well, we did wake them up this morning to the sound of our, uh, _heated_ activities," he said. "Given what they are and how Gunther's liable to have raised them, they're probably terrified of their own sexuality, and here you are, a young woman who's completely in control of her sex life. There's a good chance they've never seen anything quite like you."

Allison smiled at these words. "Completely in control, huh?" she asked.

Scott shrugged again. "Figure of speech," he said. "You know what you like and do what you want. I doubt either of them is quite that liberated."

Allison's smile faded. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe I'll try and talk to them later. I feel like we all still have more questions than answers about each other."

"I think that's kind of what life is about."

Allison punched Scott's arm playfully. "Advice from the werewolf sage?" she asked. "You should write a book."  
Scott grinned. "I could shave my head and wear robes, like a monk," he said.

Allison laughed. "No way," she said. "No head shaving. That is not girlfriend-approved."

"Fine, no head-shaving," Scott said. "I've always kind of wanted to try a mohawk, anyway."

"You are so not funny."

"Eh, I'm a little funny," Scott replied. He looked around at the house. "Stiles and Lydia are discussing dinner. Unless you feel like getting stuck with Lydia's Thai food obsession I'd suggest we get in there to talk it out with them."

Scott started walking toward the back door, behind which he could still hear Declan and Curtis arguing, when he realized Allison wasn't following him. "Stiles and Lydia are here?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said.

Allison nodded, set her features, and joined Scott. "Just, you know, hold my hand for a second, okay?" she asked, lacing her fingers around his. "I'm nervous. I've never, you know, had to win back trust before."

Scott shot her a sidelong glance. "You weren't nervous like this trying to win back _my_ trust," he said, in a tone that was mostly mock-annoyance, but did hold some genuine curiosity.

"I knew I could win back your trust," Allison said, simply. "Them, I'm not so sure of."

Scott nodded. "Doesn't seem to be much in our lives that goes right on a consistent basis," he said. "Let's just get through the next five minutes, okay?"

Allison nodded and Scott gave her fingers an extra squeeze. The two of them entered through the back door. They were greeted there by Curtis and Declan. As soon as Curtis saw Allison, he broke out into a big, fake smile. Declan just sighed and leaned against the wall, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Hey there, gorgeous," Curtis said, completely ignoring Scott and the fact that Scott and Allison were still holding hands. "Done already? I was thinking on coming out there to show you a couple of tricks." He winked. "Maybe a few things with the bow and arrow, too."

Allison's eyebrows were raised in incredulity. "You think you're pretty smooth, don't you?" she asked.

"He's a real lady-killer," Declan said, rolling his eyes.

Scott jumped on the words. "Murdered a lot of women, have you?" he asked Curtis.

Curtis finally acknowledged his presence with a hard look. "None that were really women," he said. He smiled, and his smile sent a small shiver up Scott's back. _I've seen that look before_. "A few even enjoyed having me put shit inside them, I reckon."

Scott set his face in a hard line. "You don't know everything that's been going on around here lately, so I'll give you a pass this time on that joke," he said. "But very recently a couple of assholes attempted a sexual assault on someone very close to us. So we're not at all in the mood for jokes involving anything that even sounds like sexual assault. Get the picture?"

Curtis shot that predatory smile their way again. "Got it," he said. "But she'll be knockin' on my door before too long. You wait and see." He turned and left the kitchen.

"The fucking nerve - " Allison started to say, then stopped, sputtering angrily.

"It'll pass in a couple days," Declan said, still leaning against the wall. "He gets like this over girls sometimes. He'll obsess for a few days, and then either they'll sleep with him and he'll lose interest or they'll blow him off enough times that he loses interest. Either way, it's done in a week, tops."

"_He'll_ be done in a week, tops - "

"Allison," Scott said. "Control. Remember your speech this morning about us being on the same side."

"I'd like to see him on the side of the curb with my boot against the back of his head!"

"Allison!" Scott said, taking hold of her shoulders. His eyes flared red. "Get hold of yourself."

At the sight of Scott's eyes going red, Declan had visibly tensed, but he made no move, and when the red flowed out of Scott's eyes as Allison calmed down, he began to relax to. "You're really not like any werewolf Alpha I've ever met," he said. "Granted, I've only met two, but they were both crazy. Totally borderline, you know? One of 'em had this thing about littering. He'd gut anyone who littered. That's how we lured him out. And here you are, watching my idiot big brother hit on your girl, and you're telling her to keep it under control. I'll be damned."

Scott pulled up a chair and sat down. "I think we all will," he said. "Hunters, werewolves, nymphs. All this kind of makes you wonder why something out there would want to kill all of us; we're going to wind up doing its work for it before it can ever show up."

Declan's brow had furrowed. "I've killed women, too," he said, sounding troubled. "I never killed anything didn't come at me first, but I gotta wonder now, did some of them come at me because they were scared I'd just kill them anyway? My Dad's got kind of a rough reputation in your circles. Anyone supernatural heard he was in town probably got real jumpy, real quick."  
Scott suppressed a smile. _Finally, one who doesn't have to go digging to find a real conscience._ "We all have things we regret," he said. "Best you can do is do the right thing going forward."

"I guess," Declan replied.

"You want to go grab you sisters?" Scott asked. "We're going to figure out dinner."

Declan shook his head. "It's still a little weird hearing you call them that," he said, pushing off from the wall.

Scott nodded. "You didn't even meet them until a month ago," he said. "I guess it stands to reason that you'd feel weird thinking of them as your sisters."

Declan laughed, the harshest motion they'd seen from the otherwise gentle, laid-back seeming young hunter. "Yeah, I suppose that's part of it," he said. "But it's not the main reason."

Scott raised an eyebrow, but Allison had already figured it out. "Which one do you have a crush on?" she asked. Declan grimaced, didn't answer. "Which ones?" Allison rephrased.

"Sophie and Bridget," Declan replied, lowly. "Don' tell them. It'd be too weird."

"Not Nia?" Scott asked.

"Nah," Declan said. "She's annoying enough to actually be my sister. No, the other two, though – well, I guess you'll get to know them as we go. It's just really weird hearing people call them my sisters."

"And it doesn't bother you that they're nymphs?" Allison asked. She set a hand on her hip. "Or maybe that's why you're attracted in the first place?"

"I'm not my shallow brother," Declan replied, to his credit without a hint of defensiveness. "And nymphs may be what they are, but it's not _who_ they are. I think that's what counts."

Scott and Allison exchanged a look. "You're okay, Declan," Scott said.

Declan bowed, slightly. "You're the first werewolf to ever give me a compliment," he said. "I figure you're okay, too."

***[]***

Between Gunther, Sophie, Bridget, Nia, Declan, Curtis, Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Scott, it was almost impossible to decide on food, but eventually pizza won out. Stiles and Declan went to pick up the multiple pies they'd ordered, and, seeing Bridget and Sophie standing apart from the crowd in the kitchen, Allison took it as an opportunity to speak to them. "Hey," she said, wandering into the kitchen with her hands held in front of her.

Sophie and Bridget, who'd been talking in low voices, instantly stopped talking. Sophie looked down at the ground while Bridget tried to feign interest in a small crack in the ceiling. While the sisters looked a lot alike, on closer inspection there were definite differences between the two. Both were rail-thin, but while Sophie was short and seemed to hunch in on herself like a turtle, Bridget stood up straight, with excellent posture. Her hair was a slightly darker brown than Sophie's as well, and her eyes, despite the feigned indifference, had a sparkle to them that was, even to Allison, alluring.

When they realized that Allison wasn't going to just move on, Bridget deigned to respond. "Hey," she said, her voice high and sweet sounding.

Allison bit her lip. _Well, this isn't awkward._ "Okay, I'll cut to the chase," Allison said. "I've seen you guys watching me. Is something up? Do I make you uncomfortable or something?"

Sophie shook her head, almost violently. "No," Bridget responded. "You're just – look, it's silly, okay? I'd rather not say it out loud. We'll get over it."

"Bridget!" Sophie hissed, under her breath.

"You know it's not actually true, so stop giving me grief about it!" Bridget hissed back.

Allison felt an eyebrow raise. "Maybe it'd help me understand if you told me what 'it' is,"she said.

Bridget looked at Sophie, who'd drained of color. "It's just, with everything, you kind of bear a striking resemblance to Artemis," she said. "The goddess our ancestors were handmaidens for."

The eyebrow raised even farther. "How so?" Allison asked.

"You hunt with a bow and arrow," Sophie said, cutting her sister off. "Yesterday, you and Scott stood as partners to defend us, and today we heard first hand just how much you love each other; he, then, is your Orion. You've come to live here in this house surrounded by cypress trees, Artemis' sacred tree - "

"Come on, Soph, those things are everywhere," Bridget said. She turned to Allison. "Look, I don't want you to think we're not grateful for everything you and Scott have done for us. Sophie's imagination gets the better of her sometimes."

"It's not my imagination!" Sophie protested. "You think it's a coincidence that we're here, now, being protected by her?"

"I think you're just reading too much into it," Bridget replied.

Before Sophie could retaliate against this, Allison cut in. "I'm flattered," she said. "You know, no one's ever compared me to a goddess before."

"I'm pretty sure Scott called you one this morning," Bridget said, although she blushed as she said it.

Allison blushed too. "_Notwithstanding_, I'm flattered," she said. "But trust me. I'm no goddess. I've made plenty of mistakes."

Sophie shook her head. "The Greek gods all made plenty of mistakes. Gods are allowed to make mistakes."

Allison smiled, sadly. "Clearly," she said. "Or else I suppose the world wouldn't be quite like it is, would it?"

Bridget grinned. "I like your sense of humor," she said, hesitating. "Sorry if we come across as a little, uh, weird. We never had many friends, growing up."

"Neither did I, really," Allison said. "We were always moving around. I never got the chance to get close with people. We've already lived here twice as long we lived anywhere else in the past."

Bridget's face brightened. "So we have that in common!" she said. "I wonder if we'll be staying long."

"There's no guarantee that thing that's been killing supernaturals will show up any time soon," Allison said. "You could be here for a while."

"I'd like that," Bridget said. "I like you. I'd like to get know all of you better."

"I'd like that, too," Allison replied.

Just then, Gunther yelled from the next room over for Sophie and Bridget to come help set the table for dinner. Bridget, with a last grin at Allison, walked out. Sophie trailed behind her. "There's one more important thing linking you and Artemis," she said. "Probably the most important."

"What's that?" Allison asked.

"She was the Greek goddess of the moon."

***[]***

Declan and Stiles arrived back shortly after that, each carrying a bunch of pizzas, having a deep discussion about Godzilla. Discussions that would have resulted in heightened stress were mostly avoided during dinner, with everyone swapping interests – Curtis found that no one shared his love for baseball cards, whereas Sophie, Bridget, and Nia all revealed that they had gone to lacrosse games at their past school and had enjoyed them. Lydia and Stiles had stiffly acknowledged Allison, which she had returned, but they'd avoided fighting. As the night wore on, they all lapsed into almost comfortable conversation, and for a few minutes Scott found himself feeling as much at home because he was with all of them as because he was back in his own house.

None of them noticed the solid gold eyes watching from the darkness outside the window. Not even as red veins rose slowly in the gold and then burst, flooding them full of red.


	14. Hard Answers

HARD ANSWERS

A couple of days later, Scott showed up at the animal clinic, still trying to suppress the dopey grin he'd been wearing since Allison had found a particularly unique way to wake him up that morning. It was his first day back to work. As usual he found Dr. Deaton already at the clinic – the doctor was a notorious early riser, which is part of the reason he'd always let Scott close so often. When Scott let himself into the back, the doctor smiled but didn't look up from the puppy whose paw he was examining. "The coffee is fresh if you'd like some," the doctor said, evenly, still picking at a spot on the dog's paw.

"Eh, why not," Scott said. He'd grabbed half a sip of coffee on the way out, not wanting to be late, and was still thirsty for the stuff. He grabbed a mug out of one of the cupboards and filled it with the brown liquid. Glancing around he didn't see a mug for the doctor. "Do you want some too?"

"No, thank you," he replied. "I don't drink it, myself."

Scott frowned. "Then why'd you make a pot of it?"

"For you, obviously."

Scott's frown deepened. "I didn't used to drink coffee," he said. "And I didn't tell you that I started. How'd you know?"

The doctor lowered the dog's paw. The dog gave a half-hearted bark and Deaton scratched it lightly behind its ears with affection. "This little terrier has acute chagas disease. I can tell because he shows the symptoms – swollen lymph nodes, diarrhea, seizures, and lethargy, primarily. Diagnosis is a matter of careful observation of physical symptoms. If you look closely enough, you can tell all sorts of things – if you know what they mean."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "So you diagnosed me we as drinking coffee?"

The doctor finally looked at him, a warm and kind – although a little off-putting – twinkle in his eye. "I'm talking about the dog laying on the table here," he said. "You know, Scott, our job."

Slowly, Scott nodded. "Right," he said. "Look, I appreciate having my job back, and if you don't want to talk about the whole, you know, _werewolf_ thing, I guess that's cool. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me."

The doctor's smile widened and it lost that off-putting note. "And I appreciate your discretion," he replied. "Although Gunther Kage and Chris Argent being here at the same time makes me wonder if discretion really is the best course of action." When Scott didn't say anything else, Deaton shook his head. "You really are an excellent young man, Scott. I'm sure you have many questions, but you're holding them all back. Help me get Burt here back into his cage and we can talk."

Scott scooped the puppy off the examination table and followed Deaton to a cage, which he held open. Carefully, Scott deposited the small animal and also gave it a quick, affectionate scratch behind the ears. The two of them walked back over to the examination table, where Deaton pulled out a chair on one side and indicated that Scott sit on the other.

"I really don't want to pry," Scott said. "But yeah, I've got a lot of questions."

Deaton nodded. "And the chiefest is...am I a hunter?" Scott grimaced, pained. "Don't worry, Scott. It's a natural question. The answer is, well...complicated, unfortunately. I have worked with hunters in the past, but I am not one of them, per se."

Scott leaned forward. "So, what, are you some kind of supernatural medicine guru?"

Deaton shook his head. "Your generation really has the strangest ways of expressing things," he said. "And recall that I lived through the sixties."

"You did?" Scott asked.

"I'm older than I look," Deaton said, flashing the mysterious smile. "But in answer to your question, I suppose 'supernatural medicine guru' isn't that far off. By trade, I'm a veterinarian. But I've also spent a great deal of my life traveling and learning and interacting with the supernatural. During that time, I worked both with and against hunters, and, I suppose, did some of the things they did."

Scott's brow furrowed. "Have you ever killed a werewolf?"

Deaton's expression instantly turned unreadable. "Yes," he replied.

Scott's heartbeat instantly quickened. _I still know all the ways out of here,_ he thought. _But all of them take me straight past him. Strategic seating._ "Were they people you knew?" Scott asked, distracted by his examination of routes of escape.

To his surprise, Deaton nodded. "I've killed just one of your kind myself, and she was someone I knew, yes," he said. "It's a very long story, but suffice to say that taking Janice's life was one of the most singularly tragic things I've ever been compelled to do. However, she had lost control."

"You're sure?" Scott asked.

Deaton sighed, his expression still unreadable. "She was eating her own children, Scott."

Scott felt a shudder descend through his entire body, his distraction gone immediately. "She was _what?_" he asked.

"She had her children before she was bitten," Deaton said. His eyes misted over; he was no longer looking at Scott but through him, through the walls of the clinic, and back in time. "She and her husband had a lot of problems, and between that stress and becoming a werewolf without a pack to help her through it, she lost control. I tried to help her – I'd helped a handful of other peaceful werewolves over the years – but it wasn't meant to be, and she wound up...well, I think you get the picture."

Scott pushed back from the table and stood, a wave of claustrophobia crashing over him. _She was eating her own children_. Deaton's words echoed in his head again and again. For some reason the words 'singularly tragic' kept repeating again and again as well. Supporting himself with one hand against the wall, Scott ran the other through his hair, feeling the cold sweat cling to his fingers as they passed. "Oh, man," he said.

Deaton was still sitting, his attention back on Scott. "I didn't mean to make you sick, Scott," he said. "And I don't want you to think that Janice's path must be your own. Werewolves are, in my experience, as varied as humans."

Scott was still trying to bring his sweat glands under control. And his knees, which were shaking slightly. "But we're still separate from humans?" he asked.

"That's a difficult question," Deaton replied. "You're by far the most human werewolf I've ever known. Even those other peaceful werewolves I met in my travels had an, I don't know, _otherness_ about them that was difficult to define. Being peaceful was about not attracting attention, or about not wanting to kill, or any of a half dozen other reasons, but it was never, for any of them, about being more _human_. Most unfortunately, the only werewolves I've ever heard of who tried to be human are now all dead. As a matter of fact, ironically enough, you killed the last of them."

"The Hales?" Scott asked. He finally managed to get the shaking in his knees under control and stood, straight, and faced Deaton. While his knees were no longer shaking, they still felt vaguely jelly-like. _I am never going to forget that image._

"The Hales," Deaton confirmed. "Before you ask, I didn't know them, before the fire. While werewolves forming families with regular humans isn't unheard of in reputable literature, it's not something I was ever able to observe, either. Most werewolves born with the curse – like Derek – are born to two werewolf parents, and often they're feral, more beast than person."

"So what made the Hales different?" Scott asked.

Deaton spread his hands in front of him. "I don't know, Scott," he said. "Like I said, I didn't know them myself; the fire occurred before I arrived in Beacon Hills. And, again unfortunately, as I understand it, the only person who really knew them at all isn't reliably objective on the subject."

"Kate," Scott muttered, walking over and sitting down again. He blanched as he came to rest. "Wait, how do you know about _that?_ We only figured it out a couple of months ago."

Deaton shrugged. "There were whisperings," he said. "I actually came to Beacon Hills looking for Derek and his sister, but they'd moved on by then. The assumption has always been that Kate was behind the fire. You have proof, now?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Not that it's doing any good."

Deaton waved him off. "I have met Katherine Argent," he said. "She is as damaged a person as there is in this life. I doubt that any punitive measures would really increase her discomfort any appreciable amount."

Scott nodded again. "Yeah, we know all about Kate's malfunctions."

Deaton's eyes sparkled, but now there was no mirth. "I very much doubt that you've uncovered _all_ of her issues," he said. "There's something beneath the surface that even I couldn't fully get at. But, enough about Kate and the Hales. That's all history. May I ask, how are you doing now?"

Scott laughed, and, stumbling here and there, relayed the story of the last several months – Derek's death and killing Peter to become the Alpha, finding his mother dead, his attempts to help Lydia through the initial stages of her transformation, his attempts to keep the peace between werewolf and hunter in Beacon Hills, and his long, and only recently-ended, estrangement from Allison.

When he came to the part where he was telling Deaton about Allison moving into his house, he hesitated. "Doctor?" he asked, a title he rarely used, per Deaton's request. "I have – well, look, I really don't know if it's even okay to ask you, but, well, I'm worried. And I don't want to make you uncomfortable, and you're not even a _human_ doctor so I doubt anyone's ever asked you about anything like this before - "

"Scott, slow down," Deaton said, holding up his hands. "First, I want you to understand that you can talk to me about any concerns you have, no matter how they embarrass you. Second, please start from the beginning and explain what the issue is."

Scott breathed out slowly. _God, this is worse than telling Stiles and Lydia_. "When Allison and I, um, _are intimate_, sometimes I start to shift. And we overheard her father and aunt talking about 'mating' like that's something more just an outdated word for, you know, sex. Whatever 'mating' means specifically they made it sound like it'd be dangerous for Allison. I guess I was hoping you could shed some light on it?"

Deaton shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with either phenomena," he said, not missing a beat or betraying even the slightest hint of embarrassment. _Damn, he's good_. "I'm afraid that the Argents themselves would probably be your best bet for finding more information on the subject. They have more experience with werewolves who interact with humans than I do, and it sounds as though they've had some direct experience with werewolves copulating with humans."

_Oh, that's so inviting a joke._ "We had that same thought," Scott said. He glanced at the clock. "Actually, Allison's probably talking to Kate already."

***[]***

As Scott had said, Allison was sitting on a bench at the park (near to the one Scott had had his infamous conversation with his father, although Allison didn't know that) waiting for her aunt at that very moment. _It'd be just like her to make me sit here and wait, _Allison thought, taking out her phone and glancing at it. Kate was already five minutes late.

A moment later, Allison saw her aunt jogging up. Allison quirked an eyebrow slightly; Kate really seemed to be putting effort in. "Sorry," she said, as she got close enough to the bench. "Got held up."

"That's okay," Allison said, as Kate plunked herself down on the other side of the bench.

"To be honest, I was surprised you called," she said. "I figured you'd last more than a week shacking up with McCall. His big-bad-wolfy side starting to get on your nerves?"

"Aunt Kate," Allison said, levelly. "I asked you here because I wanted your help and your advice. I'm not coming home, but if you can't try to be nice to me, I'll just go and we can forget this whole thing."

Kate seemed surprised. "Okay," she said, nodding. "All right, let's play this one your way. What's up?"

Allison took a deep breath and glanced around the park. A few kids with their parents were running around, giggling and kicking at a few just-opened dandelions. _So much none of them know_, she thought. _I can't even remember feeling that way. _"It's about me and Scott," Allison began. "I know you've been interested in what we've been doing, uh, together - "

"Ooh, do I get the fleshy details now?" Kate asked. Allison glared. Kate raised her hands, palms extended. "Sorry. Being respectful now. Go ahead."

"Anyway," Allison continued. "Scott and I have been, uh, _together_ a few times, and we overheard you and Dad talking about something the night I left, and we just wanted to find out what you know."

Kate's face betrayed no particular emotion except focus and, Allison was assuming _feigned_, warmth. "First of all, honey, it's not the night you 'left,'" she said. "It's the night you got kicked out. Let's not mince words. Second, snooping? Not polite. I approve. Third, why don't you tell me exactly what you overheard. I'll fill in the blanks."

Allison's face had slowly been coloring during Kate's speech. At it's conclusion, Allison felt her face twitch slightly. "You were talking about 'mating' like it's something important," she said, in a clipped tone, staring daggers at her aunt. "Is that something supernatural, or is your vocabulary just way out of date?"

Kate smiled a sardonic smile. "Okay," she said. "I figured it was that, but I wanted to be sure. To be clear – you and Scott have had sexual intercourse, yes?"

Allison's angry frown deepened. "Yes," she said.

"Multiple times? Multiple positions?"

"Yes," Allison replied, her teeth now grating.

"And clearly you're worried about something, or else you wouldn't be here," Kate mused, no longer looking directly at Allison, but letting her own eyes wonder over the park. "But I bet you haven't stopped, have you? Did something this morning even, didn't you, despite the fact that you both knew you'd be coming here to talk to me about this?"

"Yes," Allison replied, now outright angry. "I thought you were going to answer my questions, not ask a whole bunch of your own."

Kate leered at her. "You'd never believe what I have to say," she said. She picked at the lapel of her suede jacket and inclined her head so that her mouth was right next to the edge of the lapel. "I think it's time for you to come on up, Chris."

Allison's face completely drained of color. "What's going on?"

Kate's smile was all angry predator. "Just a little bait and switch," she said. "I'm the bait. Here comes the switch."

She nodded to the right. Allison turned and felt her heart drain of blood, too. Her father was walking up the path toward them, a similarly bloodless, twitching look on his face. He came level with Allison and Kate, who stood to join him. Allison was frozen to the bench. _I can't believe this is happening_, she thought. _This might be the worst moment of my life_.

For a second, Chris didn't say anything, staring at Allison, a look of disappointment mingling with barely-suppressed rage and just a small twinge of fear. After twitching twice, he managed to get his mouth open. "I could hear the whole conversation," he said.

Allison found her head nodding, but it was so light that it felt like it was bouncing on her neck. "I figured." Her words from her mouth, even! It felt like an odd concept.

Chris nodded brusquely. "Our principle concern is with your compulsion to continue sexual activities when your partner is clearly losing control of his emotions to an increasing extent during those activities," he said, sounding like a robot in need of oiling. "It's natural for a werewolf to lose control and shift during sexual intercourse; like everything else in their nature, strong, unrestrained feeling – like that experienced during sex – results in the change. It's not natural for a human being, seeing their werwolf partner losing his grip slowly but surely, to desire a continuance of said activities. It should scare you into stopping, but it doesn't."

Allison felt the ice that had encased her since she'd seen her father shatter and melt away, although she still felt cold. "But I'm not afraid of him," she said, and even she could hear the pleading note in her voice. "I can't explain it, but I know he won't hurt me. I trust him, and I know you trust him too, and that shouldn't change, not when we're so _close_ - "

"The fact that you can't explain it is precisely the problem," Chris replied, still sounding mechanical, studiously avoiding Allison's eyes. "It has been observed a few times in human/werewolf relations that the werewolf has a sort of hypnotic effect on the human. The human loses objectivity in regards to the werewolf, even developing 'feelings' despite there being no basis for those to exist; most of the women in question freely acknowledged that they had no reason to care for the werewolves in question. Until now there wasn't enough evidence to prove that this effect was real and not just random details from unfortunate encounters. However, I'd take this to be proof."

"A few times?" Allison asked, grasping at straws. "I thought the Hales were the first human/werewolf family you'd ever encountered."

"The other cases weren't women who'd had relationships with werewolves, Allison," Kate said, the gentle tone back in her voice. "They were women who'd been raped by werewolves."

Chris' face twitched again. Allison closed her eyes to keep herself from crying. _This isn't happening_, she kept thinking to herself. "I haven't been raped," she said, her eyes squeezed shut. "Every single thing we've done has been one hundred percent consensual. Hell, _I_ have to push _him_ - "

"It doesn't matter," Chris interrupted. "The point is that this effect, whatever it is, occurs whether the relationship is consensual or not. If Kate is right in her hypothesis, he'll keep getting worse while you keep getting more infatuated, until he kills you."

Allison shook her head, heard her voice break. "That doesn't make any sense."

Chris snapped. His eyes finally found his daughter's and, seeing her pain, seemed only interested in venting their own frustration and anger. "Sense?" he asked. "We're discussing a _creature_ that transforms into an uncontrollable beast once a month, who can grow claws and fangs at the slightest provocation, and you want _sense?_ I'll give you sense – sense would be not _fucking_ a thing like that."

Allison recoiled as though she'd been slapped. Chris' rage seemed to be sated for the moment; he deflated and stepped back, letting his eyes fall to the ground. Kate put a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you let us talk, just the girls, for a minute?" Without a word, Chris stalked off to stand about fifty feet away, his back turned. Kate bit her lip, looking down at the emotionally-destroyed wreck that her niece had become. Allison's heart couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to stop or beat out of control; the resulting internal confusion was starting to make her dizzy. Kate sat down next to Allison and laid a hand, very gently, on her shoulder, which was shaking. "He's just worried about you."

"That didn't sound like worry."

"Our family has unique ways of expressing a lot of things. Worry is one of them," she said, clearly trying to look kind and sympathetic. "Look, the point is, this is only going to get worse. You should come home now. Chris probably won't say anything for a while, but he's okay with it; I made sure beforehand that if I could prove my theory to him, he'd let you come back home."

Allison's eyes widened. "You think after that I'd even consider coming home?" she asked. "No way. I'd rather stay with Scott and die than live under the same roof with _him_."

"That's the hypnosis talking."

"I suppose if someone said that to you, you'd be okay with it?"

Kate laughed. "Allison, in case you hadn't noticed, I have off-color jokes made about my sexual habits every other week. If I jumped down peoples throats every time they made a crack to me, there'd be an awful lot of people around here without throats. You included."

Allison's brow furrowed. _I guess she has a point_. "So how do you take it?" she asked.

Kate shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "I just know that no matter what people say, _I know_ who I am and what I do. And I don't care about anything else, so it doesn't really bother me. I'm in control now."

The majority of the statement had sounded relaxed and confident, but Allison heard a slight falter in the last statement. "Aunt Kate, did this – this hypnosis thing – did it happen with you and Derek?"

Kate's head snapped around. "Derek Hale meant nothing to me," she said, suddenly agitated. "I never felt anything for him. When the time came, I executed his family, and then after that, I executed him. If I had been falling under his spell I doubt I could have done all that, could I?"

Allison backed off. "Okay," she said. _That was a sore spot for sure._ "Okay, you didn't like him. I get it."

"I hated him," Kate muttered. "I still hate him."

She trailed off, staring off into the distance, giving Allison a chance to collect her thoughts. _Just get away from this_, she thought. _Go find Scott and talk this out and figure out the next step. But get away first. _"Listen, I'm going to go," she said, starting to rise and gathering up her motorcycle helmet.

Kate caught her arm, roughly. "You're not going back to him," she said.

"I'm sure as hell not going back to _his_ house," she said, nodding at her father, whose back was still turned. "I'm going to talk this over with Scott and we'll figure out what we have to do. But..._Chris_ is the one who kicked me out of that house. I'm not coming back."

Kate's grip tightened. "We could just take you," she said.

"No, you could fight me," Allison said, feeling the vicious edge in the words give her strength and make her feel more confident. "Maybe you'd win, but you're distracted and Frankenstein over there is so stiff he'd probably pull a muscle with the first punch, and right now I've got anger on my side, so I don't really like your odds. And anyway, what do you suppose happens when the Alpha finds out you abducted – or tried to abduct – his girlfriend? You've got a treaty to think about now."

"Fuck treaties," Kate said, instantly. "You don't really think I care about that, do you?"

"No," Allison said. "But my father does. And he's still listening through that little microphone in your lapel that you forgot to take off, and he's putting it all together. So he can listen to me now when I say that he can either try to trust me to handle this, or he can do something stupid and probably get us all killed."

Kate's eyes widened and she fingered the lapel, where the microphone was still hidden. Both Kate and Allison looked over at Chris, whose posture hadn't wavered through the whole speech. Slowly, looking like he really was pulling muscles just by moving, Chris started walking away, back up the path the way he'd come. He never turned to look back. A moment later, shaking her head and grumbling, Kate followed him, leaving Allison to buckle her motorcycle helmet over her head and turn on her heel to find her motorcycle.

***[]***

Dr. Deaton had agreed to stay through closing to make sure Scott had the chance to get back into the swing of things. The gesture was kind, but largely unnecessary; Scott hadn't forgotten a single duty and within minutes was performing everything proficiently; some things he even felt more comfortable doing, which he chalked up to the increased strength, coordination, and agility that came with being an Alpha. _I have marketable skills now_, he thought. _Or at least a marketable body. I wonder how many werewolves are in male modeling. Ugh. Probably a lot_.

They were getting ready to close up when Scott heard a now-familiar revving out front. The doctor looked up from the paperwork he was leafing through, a questioning look on his face. "Allison," Scott said. "That's her motorcycle. And her heartbeat." His brow furrowed. "Her heart's beating way too fast."

The doctor dropped the paperwork onto his desk. "Perhaps we should go and see what the issue is."

The two of them made their way to the front of the clinic as the revving died. Allison came in through the front door as Scott crossed the divider between the waiting area and the front desk. As soon as he saw her, her face streaked with tears as she pulled her motorcycle helmet off, he increased his pace and caught her in a giant hug. He felt some of the tension drain out of her upon contact but, curiously, the tension was right back again, even worse, a second later. He hugged her and felt her hug him back, but it wasn't the usual Allison-hug he'd gotten used to; the pressure was weak and not in the same places he was used to. _You are overanalyzing hugs_, he thought. _Find out what's wrong and then play World's Most Sensitive Jerk_. "What's wrong?" he asked. She eyed Deaton, who was milling in the doorway. "Don't worry, I told him everything."

Allison still looked pained. "Regardless, I think I'll go throw the tea kettle on," Deaton said. "Some chamomile should help settle the young lady down. You know where I'll be." He disappeared.

Scott reached down and inclined Allison's face upward, to meet her eyes. "Allison?" he asked.

Allison choked out a sob. "It went so wrong," she said. Her eyes were full of tears. "Oh, God, Scott, it went _so wrong_."

From there the story began to spill out. She noticed when Deaton reappeared in the doorway a moment later but didn't stop until she'd finished recounting the days' events. Scott's eyes were wide by the time she had finished. _First eating kids and now this_, he thought. _I wonder if I can dig Peter up and kill him again. This is all his fault_. "Are they sure about this?" he asked.

Before Allison could answer, Deaton responded. "Of course not," he said. "They have a theory. It's a theory that fits some of the facts, but there is one principle fact which they're leaving out – the Hales. It is _possible_ for werewolves and humans to have safe, intimate relationships. Unfortunately, it's been my experience that hunters frequently fail to consider the possibility that something might be safe, especially once they're convinced it is not."

"Sounds like Chris," Scott muttered. Still holding Allison, he turned to Deaton. "Derek and his sister were out of this town for ten years. They must have known people. Maybe they can help us figure out what was different about the Hales."

Deaton shook his head. "Even if those people exist, Scott, the secret of their identities died with Derek," he said. "You probably knew Derek as well as anyone did. He wasn't the kind to leave a journal or diary, and he didn't discuss anything he didn't have to with anyone. We can see about tracing him back through the last ten years, but it's likely to be a fruitless search."

Scott snarled involuntarily. "There's got to be something!" he said.

Deaton tried to give him a calming, reassuring smile. "Whatever's out there, we'll find it," he said.

Scott went to nod, but at that moment his entire body went rigid. At the words 'out there' he'd suddenly become aware of...something. It wasn't a sight or a smell or a sound; it was just a feeling that _something_ was outside the clinic, not watching or listening but still aware of everything they were saying and doing.

Allison felt Scott's body tense. "What is it?" she asked, looking up at his alert face.

He turned to the regard the high window. "There's something out there."

Before he knew what he was doing, Scott was striding out the door to the clinic, Allison and Deaton struggling to keep up with his pace. Outside, the air was hot and humid, so that the leaves on the trees almost seemed to be dripping. Even Scott almost missed the figure at first; not because it was camouflaged but because it was completely still, betraying none of the natural movement a human would have.

Scott pointed and, following his finger, Allison gasped and Deaton grimaced. The figure, seven feet tall and exceptionally muscular, was standing against the treeline fifty feet away. Its clothes were tatters; its shirt no longer had sleeves, and the navy blue fabric covering the torso was heavily torn, showing glimpses of bright, fire-red tattoos. Its arms were covered in black tattoos; even at a distance Scott could make out that the tattoos seemed to form crisscrossing lines of barbed wire. It wore similarly-torn black trousers and shiny black combat boots.

Most distinct, though, was its head. The shirt had a hood which left the creature's face obscured in darkness, but two yellow eyes and a row of disaffecting, grinning sharp teeth could be seen in the shadow. The creature didn't breath, didn't shudder, didn't seem to be effected by gravity or the wind or anything else around it. And it was watching Scott.

"Okay, what is that?" Allison asked.

Scott felt a cold shudder. "I think it's the thing that Gunther's been tracking," he said. "The thing that kills supernatural creatures."

At Scott's words the creature's perpetual grin grew just the slightest bit wider; the subtle motion was no doubt lost to Deaton and Allison from that distance, but Scott could see it and was thoroughly unnerved. Before he, or either of the humans, could say anything, the creature spoke, although its grinning, fang-ridden mouth did not move. "_I'll tear her to shreds_," it said, its voice an icy whisper, soft in inflection but loud as a bomb in Scott's ears. "_I'll drink of her heart and taste of her flesh. She will be mine, and there is nothing you can do to stop me._"

Instantly, Scott's vision went red. He let out a great roar, shifting instantly into his full Alpha form, his clothes bursting to shreds. Allison and Deaton were both startled by Scott's sudden transformation and stumbled a step back. They were still off-balance when Scott bounded forward, completely ignoring Allison's yell to wait.

The figure seemed to turn and vanish into the trees in one motion. Scott went careening into the woods after it. It didn't have any scent whatsoever, so Scott had nothing to track; instead he just bound into the woods, imagining that he was chasing it in a straight line. He'd left the clinic – and Deaton and Allison – far behind in only a moment.

He heard a twig snap to his left and skidded to a halt. He turned toward the sound, but he neither saw nor smelled anything, and the sound was gone. A second later, another twig snapped – directly behind him. He whirled, snarling, to find once again that nothing was there. He angled his muzzle up to the sky and howled in rage and frustration. He was being played with.

Another twig snapped, behind him again, and this time when he whirled he was met by the creature's fist. Scott had one moment where he saw the thing's heavily-muscled arm in extreme detail – the vicious barbed wire tattoos on top of deeply outlined veins and short dark hairs – before he was flying backward. He crashed through – not into but _through_ – a tree trunk that had been about six feet wide and kept going, hitting another, slightly larger tree and bending around it rather than crashing through it. He fell to the forest floor on his face. He grit his teeth. All his ribs were broken and the bruise raising where the punch had landed was already enormous. He was surprised he'd managed to keep his Alpha form through the pain, but in a second he'd struggled to his feet. _This'll heal,_ he thought. _And maybe with some clarity of thought I can put an end to this thing_.

Expecting his accelerated healing to be dealing with the broken ribs, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to drop into a defensive crouch, to get his bearings and locate the creature, but every movement felt like a hot poker to his midsection. _Why aren't I healing?_

"_Poor lost little wolf_," the voice of the creature came from the shadows. "_No where to run, no where to hide. How many hours 'till I finish picking the meat from its bones?_"

Scott tried to shake off the shudder of fear that ran through his body, but both the shudder and his shake made his broken ribs ache worse. Thinking he heard something, Scott swiped one of his massive paws to the left, but hit nothing but air. He heard a slight whoosh to his right and swiped again, digging his claws a half inch into a nearby tree. Both actions created even more pain in his torso. _I should have begun to revert back to human by now_, he thought, although even his thoughts were starting to get muddy from the pain. _I shouldn't be able to keep my Alpha form in this much pain. _

He swiped again and dropped to a knee, again seeing red, but now for a different reason. "_Can't change back, can't escape_," the voice came again. "_None can resist me, especially not a little wolfy. A wolfy that needs tenderizing._"

Scott tried to look up and swipe again, but his arm was too slow and the creature hit him again. It drove its elbow down into Scott's face at a slight angle and Scott felt something in his jaw snap as he was thrown violently to the ground, face first again, by the force of the blow. A second later the creature's booted toe connected with his midsection and Scott again found himself flying through the air to land against a tree, feeling the tree and his bones crack with the impact. Before he could slide to the ground the creature was on him, punching and kicking and tearing, and despite the pain Scott couldn't seem to lose consciousness, couldn't seem to get away from feeling every blow, every drop of his own blood as it flowed out onto the forest floor.

And then, just as what was left of Scott's rational brain was starting to lose its grip on sanity, the creature stopped. A fleck of Scott's blood had flown into its hood. It reached down with a single finger to pick at one of Scott's many freely bleeding wounds. It withdrew the finger, coated in Scott's blood, and bent over, sticking that hand into the shadows of its hood. A second later, it straightened up, looking down at Scott in what Scott could only guess was surprise.

"_Not pure_," it said. "_Not pure at all. This is a surprise. The wolfy has killed._"

_Peter, you're finally good for something._

"_Still useful, maybe,_" the creature said, seeming to deliberate over Scott's prone and broken Alpha form. "_Need new acolyte. Could be this one. Yes, could indeed. So rich, this blood. Would make an excellent acolyte._" The creature leaned down. Even up close, its face was shrouded in darkness under the hood. "_Wolfy gets to live. Wolfy maybe even gets to be biggest, baddest wolfy ever. Rejoice in the final moments of old life. All old lives, all young lives soon coming to an end. And old Bealstock will be there to watch all suffer._"

With that, it was gone, and Scott felt his Alpha form melt away, along with his consciousness.

***[]***

Allison and Deaton followed the path Scott had left easily enough; an enraged Alpha left a trail even a novice could follow, especially in thick woods. They heard the first hit that Scott took when the first tree he hit shattered, and as they got closer they began to hear numerous other blows and something else neither of them had ever heard before – the involuntary whimpering of an Alpha in pain. Gritting her teeth, Allison increased her pace, running through the undergrowth, carrying her collapsible bow fully extended and ready for an arrow.

By the time they reached the small clearing created by the mayhem of Scott's one-sided fight with the creature, the creature itself was gone. Not that Allison would have noticed; all of her attention was focused on Scott, and she just barely managed to suppress a scream. He was curled on his side, naked and reverted to his human form, covered in cuts and bruises, especially around his midsection. None of the wounds were healing. Allison hurried to his side, checking to make sure he was breathing, and not hearing a word Deaton said about trying to stabilize him as she tried to communicate to him that she was here, everything was okay, everything would _be_ okay.

But he was completely unconscious.

***[]***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so this took a _lot_ longer than I'd have ever wanted. I'm having trouble finding time to write and edit. The bad news is that I don't see those troubles letting up any time soon; the good news is that I have several ideas about where this story is headed and I'm super excited about all of them, and that more than anything else is what drives me to keep writing. So while the story's coming along a lot slower than it used to, it's still coming, and I'm still committed to the project. As always, leave and questions, comments, or criticisms in the reviews. Thanks!


	15. School Daze

Author's Note: I've had this chapter in mind pretty much since I started coming up with part two. I know it's been kind of a long time coming – getting back onto a regular update schedule has proven more difficult than I'd imagined – but I hope that it's of a high enough quality that you forgive me. Anyway, enjoy.

SCHOOL DAZE

Bridget was the first to rise, a few days later, for the first day of school. Or rather she thought she was the first to rise; by the time she made it downstairs from the room she was sharing with Nia and Sophie, she could hear the slow, rhythmic 'thwacking' noise made by Allison's bow as she shot up the target in the backyard. No one in the house was really aware of just how early Allison got up to do this – even Scott, who'd only the day before managed to get up before ten for the first time since the beating, wasn't sure exactly what time his girlfriend was getting up, but it must have been _early_ because Bridget herself always rose at five o'clock. She found herself wandering out to the backyard, where she leaned against the back door frame and watched as Allison pulled arrow after arrow from her quiver and shot each into the small, round red dot at the center of the target.

"Been up long?" Bridget asked.

Allison showed no sign of surprise that Bridget was there. _And I didn't make a sound walking over here._ "A while. Wanted to get in a few rounds before school."

Bridget sighed. "Do you feel like talking?"

"Not really."

Bridget grimaced. _Same song and dance._ "Well, if you feel like it..." she said, trailing off and walking back inside. She plopped down into a chair at the kitchen table and stared at the mismatched place mats until more footfalls drew her attention. Looking up, her face instantly colored, because standing on the stairs in nothing but a towel was Declan.

"Uh," he said, color rising in his own cheeks. "I was just showering. You know, first day and all."

"Of course!" Bridget said, too quickly, trying to peel her eyes away but failing miserably. Each time she diverted her eyes from one section of his body – say, his biceps, which were large but not _too _large – they wound up landing on another section of his body, such as his pectoral muscles, which had great definition and seemed exceptionally firm even from across the room.

And that towel around his waste seemed awfully loose.

Declan was staring back at her, an unreadable look in his usually calm eyes. "I should put on some clothes," he said. "You know, for school."  
"Yeah," Bridget said.

"Yeah," Declan repeated, still staring at her.

"You're not moving," Bridget observed.

"No, I don't appear to be," Declan said. He seemed right on the verge of saying something else when the door the basement opened and the trance both of them had entered was broken. While Declan looked embarrassed and a little flustered, Bridget hid the rush of fear she felt as well as possible. _No trances!_ she thought. _Not now!_

Curtis stuck his head out of the open door, apparently whistling a tune to himself judging by the side-to-side bob of his head. He stopped as soon as he spotted Bridget and Declan, who were both staring at him intensely, their faces both still red. The smile that slowly developed on his face was one that made Bridget feel a slight sense of cold dread. She and Sophie and Nia had all fended off vague, half-disinterested attempts on Curtis' part to entice them into sexual encounters when they'd first met – Bridget's loud protestation that they were technically siblings had, curiously, upset Declan, who'd been across the room when the incident had transpired – and really Bridget wasn't sure if Curtis had been legitimately trying to get into their pants or if he was just seeing if he could dredge up an excuse to kill them. While neither Bridget nor her sisters had ever once questioned their father's love and devotion, and while they'd all been wary around Declan at first (and, truth be told, still were a little, although Bridget realized as she thought this that the wariness she felt in regard to Declan didn't seem to stem from being afraid he'd hurt her, which confused her to no end), all three had agreed that Curtis had a predatory streak in him that could cause them any of several kinds of harm.

She remembered the same smile he was giving Declan now from the night he'd propositioned her, which lent at least some weight to the theory that he'd only been doing it to get an excuse to kill her. _Unless he's _really_ twisted where the whole sibling thing is concerned. _"Hey there, little brother," Curtis said, a slight drawl in his words. Despite the fact that none of the Kages were from the South, or had ever spent significant time there that Bridget was aware of, at times she noticed that Curtis would lapse into this slight accent. _I hope he doesn't think it's attractive. He sounds like an idiot_. "Showering before school?"

Declan looked at the floor. "Yeah, Curtis," he replied. "If this is the usual routine where you brag about having already graduated and try to make me feel bad about being stuck there, could we just skip it? It's always the same."

Curtis made his way slowly over toward the stairs, where his brother stood. Declan visibly tensed. _That can't be good_. "Nothing usual about this situation," Curtis said. He looked around at Bridget. "After all, that's our _sister_ over there, isn't it? Never had one of those, did you, Declan?"

Declan rolled his eyes slightly but still kept his gaze down and his feet planted. "No, Curtis, I didn't," he replied. "Where are you going with this? Can I just go get dressed?"

Curtis was still looking at Bridget, although his body was still oriented toward Declan. "I always figured Declan would have preferred a sister," he said. "You know, someone he didn't have to compete with for all the manly things. I bet he'd have braided your hair if you'd grown up together. But now that we're meeting all grown up already, I think maybe he's got something else in mind for you."

In one sweeping motion – even Bridget had to admit that Curtis was agile and graceful – Curtis reached over and grabbed the towel. True to Bridget's observation from earlier, it wasn't secured terribly firmly, and gave way immediately. Declan, in surprise, tried to jerk backward, out of Curtis' reach, but he had nowhere to go, being on the stairs, and the motion almost caused him to fall over. The net effect was that as the towel pulled away, Declan's arms went up wildly to windmill around to keep him from falling over, which left him with nothing to cover himself.

Bridget felt a familiar ache travel down her spine. She tried to pry her eyes away as Curtis whistled aloud and said, "Yep, this soldier's at full attention, yes siree," but she couldn't. The ache traveled all the way to the tip of her spine and then began to spread through her entire pelvic region. At the same time, her mind began to cloud and she felt her breathing quicken, her eyes flutter, and her skin start to grow warm. She clutched at her arm, trying to dig her nails in, because the pain would help prevent the trance, but she was so close to slipping away and she wanted it so _bad _and

An arrow whistled through the room, past Bridget's head to thunk into the wall right next to Curtis' head. A half inch to the right and the arrow would have brained him. The sudden, violent action broke Bridget's trance, just in time. Shocked, she and Curtis both turned to the door to see Allison standing there, holding her bow and withdrawing another arrow from her quiver. "The next one hits you somewhere it'll hurt, and the one after that hits you somewhere that leaves you minus the use of a limb," Allison said, anger just beneath her deadpan tone of voice. "Give him back the towel or I start shooting."

Curtis, who hadn't moved a muscle beside his eyes since the arrow had just barely missed him, now turned those eyes without turning his head to look at the shaft of the arrow. It wavered slightly and brushed against the skin of his face. He handed the towel back to Declan, who took it and quickly and secured it back around his waste. Mumbling a thanks to Allison, he disappeared down the stairs.

Curtis, seeming to feel a little bolder now that he'd acquiesced to Allison's initial request, allowed himself to relax slightly. He flicked a finger at the arrow, which caused it to waver a little more. "Not bad," he said. "I love a girl who knows how to work with a shaft."

"I can still shoot you."

Curtis chuckled to himself. "Yeah, you can," he said. He winked at her as he turned to go, heading toward the front door. "But you're not."

Allison shook her head at him and only lowered the bow once the front door clicked shut. Breathing out slowly, she walked over to the table and sat down heavily in a chair next to Bridget.

Allison didn't move to say anything, so Bridget, hesitant, tried to strike up the conversation. "He is kind of a jerk," she said.

"Yeah, except for the 'kind of' part," Allison muttered.

Bridget squared her shoulders toward Allison. "I really liked how you stood up for Declan," she said. "You're so strong."

Allison shook her head. "If I'd been strong, I'd have actually shot him."

Bridget frowned. "I don't think so," she said. "The situation didn't actually call for that. Curtis thought he won because he got in the last word, but everything he says is just words anyway. You got him to back down. That was the only real thing that happened."

Allison picked her head up slowly, smiling at Bridget. "Yeah," she said. "Thanks, Bridget. You're sweet."

Bridget smiled. _Finally broke through_. "Thank you," she said. "Your timing was, uh, impeccable."

"You want to hear something ironic?" Allison asked. "I was coming inside because I need a shower." Bridget chuckled. Allison cocked her head, seemed to consider her next words. "About what Curtis was saying..."

Bridget felt the chuckle catch in her throat. "Yes?" she asked.

"Well, what do you think?" Allison asked, leaning forward. It was the first time Bridget had seen anything other than frustrated tension on the brunette's face since the night they'd arrived home with Scott torn half to shreds. "About Declan?"

Bridget felt the blush rise back into her cheeks. _Oh, here we go again_. "I don't know," she said. "I mean, he's my brother, kind of, isn't he?"

Allison sighed, sat back in her seat. "Scott calls Lydia his sister," she said. "Gunther calls you his daughters. I think we've all pretty much thrown standard definitions for these kinds of things out the window. I think it's really up to you."

"Isn't it – I don't know, creepy?"

Allison laughed. "My boyfriend turns into a snarling rage monster," she said. "Sometimes while we're having sex." Her voice took on a sudden edge. "Of course, not _lately_."

"What?" Bridget asked. She was the one to lean forward this time.

"Forget it," Allison said, and Bridget could practically hear the shell she'd been wearing since she and the animal doctor had shown up at the house with Scott in pieces. _Don't let her fall back into it!_

"No, go ahead and say what you need to say," Bridget said. "You've been repressing for a week now. That's not healthy for anyone."

Allison grimaced, but the shell wavered. "Are you sure you're okay talking about this?" she asked. "You know, I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Bridget straightened up, doing her best to look dignified while she smiled at the brunette archer. "I happen to the be the perfect person to talk about this with," she said. "I've spent my whole life considering and controlling my sexuality. I'm like an expert."

Allison returned the smile. "I didn't think of it that way," she said. "Okay, yeah. Well, here's the thing – before his run-in with the creature, Scott and I were having lots of sex."

Bridget nodded. "We know," she said. "You guys tend to forget to close the window. I think the neighborhood knows."

Allison rolled her eyes. "The point is, Scott was starting to shift while we were having sex," Allison said. "And it wasn't scaring me, and a rational person would be at least a little freaked about that, right?"

Bridget's brow furrowed. "A _normal_ person might be freaked," she said. "But like you said, none of us are normal people. Normal people don't scare off pervy guys with arrows. Scott shifting during sex is probably just a werewolf thing. You know he'd never hurt you because he loves you. What's the problem?"

Allison shot Bridget a quizzical look. "That's a lot more, uh, _liberal_ than I was expecting," she said. "I don't mean to offend, it's just – how can you be so sure that just because Scott loves me he wouldn't hurt me? Do you think that your powers won't overwhelm you if you're in love?"

Bridget blushed. As much as she hated it, she felt herself recede into herself a bit. "That's different."

"How so?"

"My powers are about sex," Bridget said, fighting down a lifetime of embarrassment to even get the sentence out. "Werewolves' powers are about anger. Yeah, he shifts during sex – I kind of think that any strenuous activity does weird things to all of us – but at the end of the day, he can control it, because he's not actually _angry_. Whereas with me, all I have to be is, you know, _turned on_ for my powers to kick in, and I don't really like the sound of sex without being turned on. So it's different."

Allison was shaking her head through most of the speech. "There are so many problems with all of what you just said," she replied. "First off, I've seen Scott angry. _Really_ angry. He can work his way back from it. If he can work back from that, you can work back from whatever happens to you when you get turned on."

Bridget set her eyes firmly. "If he can work back from _that_, why are you afraid he might lose control while he's not angry?"

Allison blanched for a second. "Honestly, _I'm_ not," she said. "My parents are. Now he is. Scott feels guilty over anything that there's even a remote chance is his fault. I guess _that's_ the real problem right now – he's guilty and afraid and now we're not having sex."

"And that bothers you?"

"Yes!" Allison exclaimed. "A lot more than I thought it would. And then I have to wonder, is the fact that I'm so worked up about not getting laid a result of this whole 'mating' thing that my family is worried about, or is it just that, you know, I'm not getting laid? I'm just sick of all the doubt. You know, it's not even that it felt good – which, to be clear, it did, oh boy it did – but it's that it felt _right_. When he was inside of me, it felt like everything was right with the world, you know? Like I was right where I was supposed to be. And now I have to wonder if that's part of the whole mess, too."

"I guess maybe your situation is more like mine than I thought," Bridget mused. "I have the same issue. Like, I don't know if I'm attracted to Declan because he's sweet and sexy, like a kind of hot, casual puppy dog, or if I'm attracted to him because I'm a nymph and we're programmed to have sex and kill men."

_I just admitted I have a crush on Declan. Oh, goddess, don't let her say anything._ "There's the other thing wrong with what you think about yourself," Allison said. "Do we really know that you're 'programmed' to get laid and murder your partner? I mean, how much do we really know about your powers?"

Bridget shrugged. "I'm a nymph," she said. "It's what nymphs are."

Allison shook her head. "No, that's bullshit," she said. "Part of the problem with this is that no one's ever sat down long enough to really figure out what nymphs are, so we go on ancient myths and stories for our information. We know you have pheromone powers, but we don't really know what they're for. And since none of you has ever, you know, _gone the distance_ with one of those trances, we don't know if you involuntarily try to kill your partner or what."

Bridget grimaced. "And we'll never find out, either."

Allison sighed. "Yeah, I guess trial and error might be a little risky for you, huh?" Bridget nodded. "Still, under the right circumstances - "

Bridget shook her head. "None of us are willing to take that risk," she said. "And anyway, would you have wanted people standing by during your first time, waiting to see how you'd react, analyzing every little motion you make, every little sound that comes out of your mouth, to see if it's the first step toward you going psycho and strangling the guy you're with?"

Allison held up her hands in defeat. "Okay, so you've got a point," she said. "Still, I think you should keep your options open. If you at least entertain the idea a little it might make you feel better."

Bridget grinned. "And I think you should keep your options open."

Allison shook her head. "Tell that to Scott."

"Tell me what?" Both girls' heads whipped around. Scott was standing, hunched slightly, at the foot of the stairs. Neither of them had heard him descend. He was looking at them when their gazes swung around, but as soon as he had their attention he shifted his focus to the arrow sticking out of the wall. "Maybe why you figured it'd be a good idea to put a hole in the kitchen wall?"

Allison's body went a little rigid next to Bridget. "Curtis was being a dick," she said. "I took care of it."

Scott made a point of sniffing loudly. "Well, I don't smell any blood, so I guess that's all well and good."

He made his way over to the table – slower than he would have normally. He was still limping slightly too. "Still hurt?" Bridget asked.

"Yeah," Scott said, as he pulled out a chair and sat down – next to Bridget and across from Allison. "I've healed a little, but not nearly as much as I should have."

"Sure you're okay for school?"

"He's okay for school," Allison said, a biting edge to her voice. _Uh oh. What'd I dig up?_ "He's okay for any number of things."

Scott glanced at Bridget. "It's not fair to Bridget to do this in front of her," he said.

Allison didn't spare a glance at the fair-haired nymph. "Bridget happens to have a very unique perspective on our issues," Allison said, still in a clipped, angry tone. "She agrees with me. You're being a pussy."

Scott rolled his eyes, which, thankfully, he turned back to Allison. _I really need to avoid getting the werewolf Alpha angry at me_, Bridget thought. _Maybe I need to think through the things I say to Allison in the future._ "I told you, I think it's just a good idea for the time being to give it a rest," he said, beginning to grit his own teeth. "You think it's been easy for me, either?"

Allison's eyes were blazing. "Oh, it can't have been _easy_ for you at all. Come on, Scott, show me how _hard_ it is. Right here on the table, show me how _hard_ it is."

Scott actually snarled a little. Bridget pushed her chair back so that she could run if necessary, but neither Scott nor Allison seemed to take notice. _I wonder if Declan is dressed yet_, she thought. _I could use his help right now_. Scott spoke. "Great, now you're turning into your aunt."

"If it'd help get you to fuck me, yeah, I'll take a page out of Kate's book."

Scott slammed his fist down on the table. "Damn it, Allison!" he yelled, rising from his chair. "I -" but he never finished the statement. His eyes had begun to glow red, but as soon as the glow began he doubled over in pain.

The fight was over instantly. Allison vaulted out of her chair, tipping it over, to stand next to Scott. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Scott's eyes were squeezed shut tight in pain. After a second of breathing and clutching at himself, some of the tension eased out of him, and he managed to lower himself back into his seat. Without needing to be told, Bridget also got up and went quickly to the sink, where she filled a glass with water, which she then deposited on the table in front of Scott.

He gave her a grateful look and raised the glass to his lips, taking a few short sips. Breathing more steadily, he put the glass back down on the table. "As soon as the shift started," he said. "It felt like I was back in the woods, getting pummeled by Bealstock again." He managed a wry laugh, looking up into Allison's concerned face. "Well, we may have found a cure for being a werewolf, if every time I go to shift I wind up feeling like that. Only means I'll wind up in excruciating pain every time I get angry for the rest of my life. Think your Dad will give us his blessing now?"

Declan burst through the door to the stairs, carrying a pistol. "I heard loud noises, sounded like punching and furniture getting tossed around," he said. He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt – _a tight black t-shirt_, Bridget couldn't help but think.

Scott looked up at him. "Don't worry," he said. "No danger. Unless you count me feeling like I just went ten rounds in a fistfight with a grizzly bear just because I let myself get angry."

Declan lowered the gun, shaking his head. "Living with werewolves is going to be different," he said. "Not any worse than living with Curtis has been, mind, but still, different. Got any coffee?"

He made his way into the kitchen. Bridget turned to assist him with the coffee pot, but she could still hear Scott and Allison behind them. Allison had wrapped her arms gently around Scott's shoulders. "No more jokes. I was scared."

"I know," Scott whispered back. "I'm sorry. I guess until we know more about what happened I just need to keep it under control."  
"You're right," Allison said. "And, as much as I hate to admit it, I guess that's another reason we shouldn't, uh," she stuttered, and Bridget could practically feel her cast a glance at her and Declan. "You know."

"Yeah," Scott said. Bridget heard a light kiss and spared a glance over her shoulder to see Scott with his head inclined, kissing Allison on the cheek. "I love you."  
"Love you too," Allison whispered, kissing him on the forehead. "I'm going to go shower."

She got up and left. Scott took a second and then got up as well, heading upstairs, muttering, "I could use a shower too. A cold one."

As soon as he seemed certain that Scott and Allison were both out of hearing range, Declan gave Bridget a significant glance. "They were talking about sex just now, weren't they?"

Bridget nodded. "Yup."

"So," Declan said, and the silence that stretched out after the word was clearly awkward for both of them. "Look, about earlier, I just want to apologize."

Bridget felt her eyebrows raise involuntarily. "Apologize? Why?"

Declan blushed. "I should have realized what was on Curtis' mind," he said. "Giving me grief is his favorite thing to pass the time. Anyway, I hope you weren't offended."

"I was offended," Bridget said, and Declan's eyebrows knotted. "By _him_," she continued. "Why didn't you stand up to him? I bet you could take him."

Declan grinned with only one corner of his mouth, a slow, deliberate motion. "Well, I was kinda naked," he said. "Plus, I couldn't hurt him. He's my brother." His eyebrows knotted again. "He's _our_ brother."

Bridget took a deep breath, steadying herself. _Here we go. Hope you were right about this, Allison._ "He's your brother," she said. "Not mine. I was talking with Allison earlier about this, and I agree with what she had to say. I think we decide who means what to us. That means I get to decide who's my brother and who isn't."

Declan's eyebrows were both raised exceptionally high. He set his coffee cup down on the counter. "Then what am I?"

For a second, Bridget couldn't think. Then, before she'd made a conscious decision, she turned to face him, to find that he'd already squared his shoulders toward her. She felt her eyes traveling all over his body, which looked almost as good clothed as it did unclothed, and this time there was no familiar warning tingle, no sharp feeling traveling down her spine, just a heaviness in her chest and a feeling deep inside her, between her legs, that she'd only ever progressed far enough to feel a couple of times. She reached out to touch his chest, seeing that he wasn't breathing in anticipation, and she wondered what would happen when she made contact – her nerves were so alive that she could feel the air parting as her hand inched closer to Declan's chest, and her imagination jumped to images of explosions when she considered what the moment of contact would be like. His eyes were big and round and Bridget could have just about gone swimming in them.

She never got the chance. Nia, descending the stairs while toweling her hair, interrupted them. "Bridget, if you are going to want to shower, I suggest you get in line," she said. "Allison just got in, but Scott and Sophie are both going to have to as well, and we're going to wind up pressed for time soon. It really is inconvenient having only one shower. Or not being able to shower together." Bridget's hand recoiled and she backed away, both she and Declan blushing. "Oh, I'm sorry, were you two having a romantic interlude?"

"You got the best timing in the world, little sister," Declan said, and despite the usual resigned, laid-back tone, Bridget could have sworn she heard a note of real irritation and frustration underneath.

Nia shrugged. "I chose to come downstairs because I feel like a bowl of cereal before school," she said, passing from the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing a box of Cheerios from one of the cupboards. "It is not my fault that you decided to grope each other in a public room."

"We weren't groping each other!" Bridget hissed. "It wasn't anything like that!"

Declan instantly looked hurt. _Oh, crap_. Nia looked between the young man and Bridget, her face as passive as ever. "My mistake."

"I should finish getting ready," Declan said. He turned without looking at Bridget and headed back over to the stairs down into the basement.

"Declan!" Bridget called after him as the door shut, but he didn't stop or turn around. She turned to look at Nia, who was picking Cheerios out of the box and eating them one at a time. "Great. Thanks, Nia. That just really helped a lot."

"I should think it did," Nia replied. "That _was_ a romantic encounter, or the beginnings of one, was it not? With our own brother? And what would father say? You know that it is not safe for us to engage in behavior of that kind."

"It didn't feel not safe," Bridget grumbled.

"Really?" Nia asked. "That's quite interesting. What did it feel like?"

Bridget shook her head. "Nia, you're going to have to get those questions under control. We're going to be around people who won't understand why you're being so...frank. Do you understand?"

Nia cocked her head at Bridget. As ever, the expression on her face hadn't changed. "I understand that you're avoiding the question I asked."

Bridget threw up her hands in exasperation. "Fine," she said. "I'm going to take your advice and go get in line for the shower."

When she reached the top of the stairs, the bathroom door opened, expelling a wisp of steam. Prepared after the Declan incident earlier, she began to shield her eyes in case the occupant leaving was Scott, but it was only Allison, with a towel wrapped around her body and another wrapped around her head. Allison grinned weakly at Bridget, who grinned just as weakly back. "Hey, Bridget," Allison said. "Listen, could I ask you for a favor? Kind of a weird one?"

"This has already been the weirdest morning I've had in at least a week," Bridget said. "Sure. What can I do for you?"

"Could you ask Scott to go downstairs while I go in and change?" she asked. "I just figure, with everything, if I just show up in our room in a towel – well, that's not really fair to either of us right now, you know?"

Bridget nodded. "I guess that makes sense," she said.

"I'll wait in the bathroom."

Bridget padded quickly down the hall and knocked on Scott's door. As soon as her hand made contact, the door began to swing open. Surprised, she took a step back. "Scott! Sorry, did I startle you?"

Scott shook his head. "Heard your heartbeat getting closer to the door," he said. He flicked at his ears. "At least my hearing is still working. What's up?"

Bridget grimaced. "Uh, Allison asked me to ask you if you could wait downstairs for a bit? She's getting out of the shower and didn't want to go parading around in your room, given the situation."

Scott's expression faltered from one of casual recognition. For a second, Bridget was sure she'd made him angry. _What was I _just_ thinking about pissing off werewolf Alphas?_ But then he stepped out of the doorway and into the hall, leaving the door open behind him. He didn't say anything as he walked, still limping slightly, down the stairs. Bridget followed him and knocked on the bathroom door. Allison swung the door open. "All clear," Bridget said.

Allison stepped out, still dripping slightly. "Thanks, Bridget," she said. She smiled, still looking pained, but still looking genuinely grateful. "It's good to have a friend again. Feels like it's been a long time."

Bridget smiled back, imagining that she looked about as pained as Allison did. "Like I said the other night, I've never really had a friend, aside from my sisters," she said. "So I guess I can relate. You done with the bathroom? I could use a shower."

Allison stepped out of Bridget's way, letting her step quickly into the bathroom. She grabbed a towel out of the closet and laid it on the counter, then slithered out of her pajamas quickly. She stood contemplating the shower controls for a second. Hot or cold? It had already been such a strange morning and a good, cold shower had always been a safe refuge, a way to take an extra step back from the edge that she always felt like she was living on.

After a second, she turned the shower dial to hot and stepped in.

***[]***

Sophie knocked on the bathroom door. "Bridget, we have, like, fifteen minutes until we're supposed to be leaving for school!" she called. "Scott and I both still need to shower. Hurry up!"

She heard the faucet turn off and, a second later, her twin sister emerged, wrapped in a deep green towel, her hair dripping. "Sorry," she said, although she didn't sound particularly sorry. "Got carried away."

A wave of steam followed her out of the bathroom. Sophie peered in and saw that all the surfaces in the bathroom were fogged over. "I guess," she said. She lowered her voice. "I thought you usually liked a cold shower before going out into public like this."

Bridget shrugged. "I feel like a change today," she said. "It's been kind of a wacky morning."

Sophie shot her sister a skeptical look. "What do you mean?"

Bridget laughed. "That's right, you've been asleep," she said. "I'll fill you in later. Go ahead and jump in the shower. We don't want to be late."

Sophie glanced back toward the room that she, Bridget and Nia were sharing, but she couldn't see the clock through the open door at this angle. "Well, I may have exaggerated about the time," she said. "We still have about a half hour."

Bridget rolled her eyes. "You exaggerating," she said. "Go figure."

Sophie cast another quick look around to make sure they were alone, and then stuck her tongue out at her sister. While Sophie and Bridget had typically got along throughout most of their lives, no one could bring out Sophie's childish – and, she reflected, probably most normal-seeming – side than Bridget. Which always seemed odd to Sophie, since Bridget, of the three of them, was able to get along with people the best – Sophie often had difficulty relating to others, and it seemed to both of them that Nia didn't even try to relate to others.

Ten minutes later, Sophie had completed her daily routine, which, after witnessing some of the lengths that Allison went to in preparing for the day since they'd all come to live at the McCall house, seemed somewhat Spartan by comparison. Sophie also wrapped a towel around her slender frame and made the brief walk from the bathroom to the room she was sharing with Bridget and Nia. She considered stopping and knocking on Scott's door, but was momentarily mortified by the notion of him actually opening the door and seeing her in just a towel. _Wait, he's a werewolf,_ she thought. _Super hearing. _She reached the door to her room and then called, still softly, "Hey Scott, the shower is free."

"Thanks," he called back from behind his own door.

Sophie turned quickly and knocked to make sure Bridget wasn't standing directly behind the door – or wasn't naked and in view of the door, for that matter. When Bridget replied for Sophie to come in, she quickly opened the door and stepped inside, clicking it shut just as she heard Scott's door beginning to open. Breathing an inward sigh of relief, she turned to look into the room.

And stopped, staring, at her sister. Bridget wore an ensemble of the likes Sophie had never imagined she'd see one of her sisters in. She wore a jeans skirt which stopped above her knees and a tight t-shirt which didn't reach down to the top of the skirt, which in turn hung off her hips, exposing her hip bones and a relatively large amount of skin. Instead of the sneakers she normally wore, she had on a pair of black boots which rose halfway to her knees. And she had on makeup! Eyeliner and mascara and – Sophie wasn't even entirely sure what all of the things littered on the desk were called.

"Bridget, what on Earth are you wearing?"

"Clothes," she said, shortly. "I borrowed them from Allison. The skirt's a little loose on my waist, but don't you dare tell her, I think that's the kind of thing that girls get upset about when they're not, you know, us."

"Bridget!" Sophie hissed, the irrational side of her brain suddenly fearful that she too would be expected to wear such a getup. "If father sees you wearing that you know what he'll say."

"He and Curtis already left," Bridget said. When she continued, there was a note of defiance in her voice. "And I don't care what he'd have to say. I'm perfectly in control of myself, and I feel like looking pretty, and this makes me look pretty. So there."

Sophie felt herself lean over on one hip, a sign of skepticism. "You're acting like a child while dressing like a whore," she said. "That's not a good combination."

Bridget mimicked the gesture. "They're Allison's clothes. I suppose you think she dresses like a whore, too?"

Sophie recoiled slightly. "Of course not! You know what I think about Allison."

"So don't be so judgmental. You'd be surprised how good it feels to relax a little." Sophie shook her head, still looking disapproving, and Bridget sighed. "Look, Soph, I know you don't approve. But I'm under control, honest. And I felt good for five seconds earlier this morning, and I want to feel that way again. Please?"

Sophie looked her up and down, saw weariness in her eyes. Despite the more draconian measures that Nia had always had to take – what with the gloves and the constant all-skin-covered attire – it always seemed to have been Bridget who'd taken their restrictions the hardest. Not that she was aware of it consciously, but Sophie had always been the one to take them the easiest. "Fine," she said. "It's not like you need my permission, anyway. But if father gets angry, I told you so."

Bridget smiled slightly. "Thanks, Soph," she said. "I'll be downstairs. Get your clothes on quick, we're going to have to go soon."

A couple of minutes later, Sophie was dressed in jeans and a baggy, faded plaid work shirt, unbuttoned and left open over a gray t-shirt, which had slits cut into the back in case she felt like extending her wings. Not that she thought there'd be any cause to do so at school; ever since the discovery of their wings years ago, Sophie had always felt too confined in any sort of clothing that would prevent her from spreading her wings. Secretly, they were the one part of being a nymph that she embraced.

When she arrived downstairs, she discovered that Scott had showered and changed and beaten her down, making her the last person to emerge, ready to head to school. "Sorry if I held us up," she said. No one moved. "Uh, are we going to school?"

Declan looked up, looking embarrassed. "Dad took his truck and Curtis took his car," he said. "And we couldn't get Scott's car to start. So between all of us we only have Allison's motorcycle."

Sophie scanned the crowd, which included Scott, Declan, Allison, Nia and Bridget, as well as herself. "Oh," she said.

"We're too many for a motorcycle," Nia said, helpfully.

"Don't worry, we called Stiles and Lydia, they're on their way," Scott said. "We might just be a little late, that's all. Don't sweat it. The motto at Beacon Hills High is, 'you're probably late because you're high, because you'd have to be high not to want to be late.'"

"That's a contradiction," Nia pointed out. "Why is it the school motto?"

Scott looked at her and scratched his head. "Uh," he said.

Bridget jumped in. "He's not serious," she said.

Nia gave her an even look. "I know," she said. "I just wanted to hear what his answer would be."

Allison shook her head, although she was smiling. "Sometimes I think the world is just one big social experiment for you."

Surprisingly, Nia did not address her directly in responding, instead mumbling, "It had to be _something_."

A few minutes of lounging awkwardly around later, Scott picked himself up off the couch and announced that Lydia and Stiles had just pulled onto the street. The six of them piled outside, hefting backpacks and messenger bags and, in Scott's case, a lacrosse stick. Sophie regarded the stick with some embarrassment, thinking back to the night they'd all had dinner together and had swapped stories. Sophie had felt like she'd been too enthusiastic when Stiles had mentioned that he and Scott both played, although Bridget and Nia had both assured her that she hadn't been that bad later on that evening (Bridget: "It's not like you jumped out of your seat or anything, you just kind of bounced a little," and Nia: "Your reaction wasn't anywhere near as embarrassing as it must have been for Stiles when he realized his fly was down."). Embarrassment or no, if she was being honest with herself, she was looking forward to seeing more games. Sophie had always loved everything associated with the outdoors, and a game played on a grass field with lots of running...well, it just felt right to Sophie, which seldom few things ever seemed to do.

Stiles and Lydia parked their respective cars in the driveway and popped out. "Heard you guys needed a lift," Stiles said. "Not to worry, I've always got you covered in case of emergency. Especially in case of emergency that doesn't involve running for my life or bleeding a lot. I'd like it on record that I prefer this kind of emergency."

"You don't like to bleed a lot?" Nia asked.

"No, not so much," Stiles responded.

She brushed at a hair that had caught in her eyebrow. "You'd make a lousy woman."  
Stiles grimaced. "Sadly, we're about to spend all day in a place where there are many people who would disagree with you on that," he said. "Anyway, how are we divvying up this crowd?"

Allison held up a helmet. "I can still take one on the bike," she said, looking at Scott.

Scott looked away. "I think I'll ride with Stiles, actually."

Allison's shoulders slumped, but she powered through the disappointment. "Anyone else?"

After a second of no one stepping forward, Bridget seemed to come to a decision. "I'll go," she said, striding forward and taking the helmet. The two of them climbed on without another word.

As Bridget settled in behind Allison, her body bending to fit the contours of the bike, she heard Declan mutter, "Shower definitely wasn't cold enough."

Scott nodded. "At least we won't have a problem with running out of hot water," he said. Both young men were staring openly.

"Hey, I thought their little nymph charms weren't working on you," Lydia said to Scott.

Before he could reply, Stiles jumped in, nodding at Bridget and Allison, who'd just started the bike and were beginning to pull away. "No power in the land could get a man to not be turned on by that sight," he said. "Except maybe homosexuality." He turned back to Nia. "Which, again, is something that many of the people in our fair school will associate with me. It's not too late for us to all drop out, get minimum wage jobs, and spend the rest of our lives smoking too much pot."

Nia inclined her head toward Stiles. "Are you homosexual?" she asked.

"No," Stiles said. "No, I'm not."

Nia turned to Lydia. "Can you confirm this?"

Lydia didn't miss a beat, her hand on her hip. "I can."

Nia nodded. "I will travel with Lydia," she said. "I like her."

"I'll come too with Lydia too," Declan said. "Someone needs to play Nia-moderator."

"I resent that, Declan."

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't, but for your sake I pretend."

Sophie looked between the two cars. The thought of being stuck in a cramped vehicle with two boys made her feel a little sick. "I'll go with Lydia, too."

Stiles bent to sniff at himself. "I remembered to shower this morning, right?"

Nia nodded again. "I think you smell wonderful." With that, she opened the passenger side door of Lydia's mother's car and sat down. With a raised eyebrow at the incredulous look on Stiles' face, Lydia blew him a kiss and climbed back into the car, behind the wheel. Which left Declan and Sophie to get into the back seat.

Sophie was only vaguely aware of the stereotype about boys and girls in the backseats of cars, but the instant she was sitting and Declan was sitting and Lydia was turning the car on, she understood why the stereotype existed. Although definitely more spacious than the back of Stiles' Jeep would have been, the sedan still didn't have a ton of room; fitting a third person into the middle would have been nearly impossible. When Sophie laid her backpack down on the seat next to her, leaving her hand resting on top of it, she was painfully aware of how close Declan's hand was to hers, as he had just done the same thing.

Lydia started the car and pulled out of the McCall house's driveway, behind Stiles' Jeep. "So, you guys excited for school?" she asked, a note of definite sarcasm in her voice.

"Kind of," Declan replied. _Is it my imagination, or is his hand closer to mine?_ "I haven't always had the chance to go to school. It's nice to get a little in here and there."

"Too busy hunting?" Lydia asked, just the slightest note of anxiety in her voice.

Declan frowned. "Yeah," he said. "Was what it was, I suppose. But still, not the best way to spend a childhood."

_His hand is definitely closer_. Sophie squirmed a little in her seat, suddenly aware of how sitting in the car made parts of her clothing stretch tight over her body. And Declan kept shooting her little glances when he seemed to think she wasn't paying attention.

"Just when did the whole hunting thing start for you guys, anyway?" Lydia asked. "I mean, how old were you?"

"We've kinda been doing it our whole lives, by degrees," Declan said. "My first memory is actually of my Dad teaching me how to clean a pistol. We didn't really start fighting things until a few years ago, though."

_Any closer and we'll be touching_.

Lydia shivered. "I guess I can't imagine what it was like for you," she said. "And for the record, I appreciate that you and your family are trying to imagine what it's like for me and Scott right now."

Declan grinned, wryly. "I figure you'd be dead if we weren't trying to imagine that."

"Or you would be," Lydia said, instantly.

Declan nodded, slowly. Sophie could feel little swirls of air on her fingertips as Declan's fingers grew nearer. Declan closed his eyes. "Yeah, or that," he said.

Declan's hand met Sophie's. Instantly there was an electric charge running between the two of them. Sophie's first instinct was to jerk away, but she held her hand there, mesmerized by the feeling of the simple touch. Declan's fingers were warm and softer than she'd imagined they would be – and, she found, she had, in the back of her mind, been imagining what they would be like. Before she could figure out what she was doing, Sophie pulled Declan's hand down off their bags, behind them, where Lydia and Nia wouldn't be able to see that they were touching if they happened to look back.

Lydia had been saying something. "Hmm?" Sophie asked, hearing how fuzzy her voice sounded.

"I was asking what you thought of school," she asked.

"Dunno," Sophie said. She slid her hand up Declan's, feeling his fingers wind all around her hand. The pressure was tantalizing. Sophie's heart was beating fast, faster than it had in a long time. "I guess it's okay."

Nia turned to look at her. "You were always bursting with excitement for school back home," she said. "What's different now?"

"Dunno," Sophie repeated, willing her sister to look away. Declan still had his eyes closed and was doing his best to look relaxed, but Sophie could tell that he was having a similar physical reaction to hers. _No tingling in my spine yet, and I can still think clearly_, Sophie thought. _Why aren't I stopping this? He's letting his hormones get the better of him._

_Unless I'm spreading pheromones and don't even realize it._

With that thought, Sophie did jerk her hand back. Declan's eyes came open and he looked around at her, startled. She looked away from him and out the window at the trees flashing past, trying to collect her thoughts. "Yeah," she said, directing her words toward the front of the car. "Yeah, I do like school. Sorry, I've just been kind of disoriented lately, you know?"

Lydia laughed. "Tell me about it," she said. "Try waking up in the hospital the day after the big dance to find out you're a werewolf. Not exactly my finest moment."

Sophie breathed a sight of relief to herself. Lydia seemed to have bought the excuse. And it was true, wasn't it? Whatever it was that had just happened, it was just the result of her feeling so turned around in this new town. _In this new town with my new brother_, she thought, almost laughing out loud. _Of course things are going to be weird. _

But Nia, who'd turned again to look at her sister, had a look on her face which suggested otherwise.

They managed to arrive at school without any further incidents. By the time they'd parked, right next to Stiles and Scott, they could see that Allison's bike was already parked and she and Bridget were nowhere to be seen. As Sophie climbed out of the car, she could see a disappointed look on Scott's face. Reading the same thing apparently, Stiles clapped Scott on the back. "I've got gym first period," Scott said. "If you run into coach, could you tell him I decided to just take a few laps to get warmed up? I don't feel like heading in right away."

"You sure you're up to all that?" Stiles asked him.

Scott shook his head, already walking toward the sports fields. "I better start making myself up for it," he muttered.

Nia had already started walking toward the school, completely independent from the rest of them, and Declan, looking confused and a little hurt – _oops_ – had broken off as well to walk into the building by himself. Rather than also breaking off and being by herself, Sophie followed Lydia around the front end of the Jeep, to where she was standing arm in arm with Stiles. Both were watching Scott walk away.

"Are you worried about him?" Sophie asked.

"Huh?" Lydia asked, looking around at her. "Uh, I guess. I don't think any of us expected that Scott could get trashed like this, and I _really_ don't think he thought he could get trashed like this. I'm not sure he's really handling it."

Sophie shrugged. "He's working harder to get better while we all try to figure out what this Bealtsock character really is," she said. "What else is he supposed to do?"

Stiles smiled at Lydia. "I think nymph-girl just outed us as worry-warts."

Lydia shook her gaze away from Scott and the three of them began walking toward the school building. "So, you like school, huh?" she asked of Sophie, continuing before the nymph could respond. "Don't spread it around, but we do, too. Stiles and I are what pass for intellectuals around this place."

"She's being modest," Stiles said. "She's the super-genius. All of my powers are devoted to witty one-liners."

Lydia swatted at him playfully, but didn't disagree. "What do you have for classes?" Lydia asked.

"I don't know," Sophie replied. "I have to pick up my schedule at the office. Since Declan, Nia, Bridget and I all enrolled late, and with, you know, forged paperwork, we didn't get schedules in the mail. The three of them have probably already picked theirs up and gone."

"We'll go with you," Lydia volunteered.

"You're being awfully nice," Stiles observed, as they entered the halls of the school. Sophie tried to follow Lydia and Stiles without falling behind and making it obvious that she was following them; she didn't want to feel like a little child that needed to be led.

Lydia shrugged. "Maybe I made a New Year's resolution."

"It's September."

"...maybe I'm a little late on following through on a New Years resolution. Here we are. Oh, wait, don't – oh, crap."

A boy was pushing his way out of the office just as they arrived at the door. He seemed cute to Sophie, if a bit overbearing – his brown hair seemed to have been meticulously jelled and spiked upward, and he wore clothes that even Sophie could recognize were expensive. "Lydia," he said, sounding surprised. "Hey, you haven't been returning my calls..." he trailed off as he saw that Lydia was holding Stiles' hand. The boy's gaze turned to Stiles. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No, Jackson, I am not kidding," Lydia said, sounding harsh. Her grip on Stiles' hand visibly tightened.

The boy folded his arms in front of him. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he said. "You're low enough for this, after all."

"Hey, Jackson," Stiles said. "You should be nice. If Scott dies, she could be the next Alpha. If you're nice now, maybe you'd be able to beg your way into getting turned into a werewolf."

"I doubt she could handle being an Alpha," Jackson sneered.

"I could handle you just fine," Lydia said. "Never took much time, either."

The sneer slipped and, visibly angry, the boy pushed away. Lydia and Stiles exchanged a triumphant high-five, but Sophie was gaping. "Who was that?" she asked.

"My ex," Lydia replied, craning her neck around to watch him go.

"He's a real peach," Stiles added.

"And he wanted to be a werewolf?" Sophie asked. "Like, he actually wanted it?"

"Yeah," Lydia confirmed, looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "Talk about issues."

Sophie shivered. "I can't imagine anyone choosing to be like that," she said. "Like, well, anything. Other than human."

"Now, see, you're assuming that Jackson is human," Stiles said. "I'm not convinced."

"What do you think he is?" Sophie asked.

"Slime given human form?" Stiles asked. "I don't know."

Sophie shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just pulled a Nia," she said. "I didn't realize you weren't being serious."

"Don't sweat it," Stiles said. "It takes a little time before you can read my deadpan. Just the other night, I totally wasn't being serious, and I asked Lydia to..."

"That's where that sentence ends," Lydia cut in. She gestured toward the open office door. "Shall we?"

Getting her schedule turned out to be a breeze. The lady behind the front desk retrieved a sheet of paper when Sophie gave her her name – the woman seemed a little stumped by the last name 'Amnisiade," but got over it quickly – and offered to find a guide who shared her classes, but Sophie declined, gesturing toward Stiles and Lydia and saying that they'd take care of her. Exiting the office, Lydia took Sophie's schedule and compared it.

"We seem to have pretty much everything together," Lydia said. "Except last period US History with Dr. Neeman. Stiles, you have history that period, right?"

Stiles pulled out his own schedule, which was crumpled into a ball in his pocket. Smoothing it out, he scanned it quickly and then replied. "Yep," he said.

Lydia smiled again at Sophie. "Looks like you won't be alone today," she said. "Come on, first period is pre-calculus. I'll show you the way."

They split off from Stiles, who had a different class first, Lydia giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before they began walking away. As they walked, Sophie attempted a new conversation. "You seem so – at ease with Stiles."

Lydia thought about the statement for a moment. "I guess I am," she said. "We're still figuring a lot of things out. I don't know that what we have is really a relationship yet. We're just kind of doing what feels good, you know?"

"Not really," Sophie replied.

"I'm sorry," Lydia said, giving the nymph a sympathetic look. "All that stuff must make you a little uncomfortable."

"A little, yeah."

Lydia was still in her own head. "And what I said to Jackson probably really made you uncomfortable," she said, musing to herself. "Wow, go me."

"No, it was okay," Sophie said. "I was just so surprised that he'd wanted to be a werewolf. Honestly, it didn't bother me. It sounded like he got what he deserved."

Lydia chuckled. "Jackson's the kind of guy who's always either getting exactly what he deserves, or getting exactly what he doesn't deserve, for better or for worse," she said. "There's no middle ground with the guy. And speaking of no middle ground – I think we have this class with Allison."

She inclined her head toward the brunette, who'd just entered the classroom they were heading toward. "Should we see if she wants to sit with us?" Sophie asked.

Lydia laughed, but this time the sound came out harsh and angry. "I don't think so," she said.

"You don't like her," Sophie observed. "I mean, we could all tell that you and Stiles don't really get along with Allison, but...you _really_ don't like her."

Lydia sighed. "A few of months ago, some things went down," Lydia said. "That's when I became, well, you know. When all was said and done, Allison came down on the wrong side. Against us."

"Against Scott?" Sophie asked, a little breathless.

"Yeah," Lydia said. "Remember how Kate mentioned Allison shooting Scott in the neck at dinner, when you guys first arrived? She wasn't kidding. Of course, the arrow was _meant_ for me, but Scott jumped in the way. He kind of makes a habit of getting himself hurt really bad to help other people."

"Geez," Sophie said. "I had no idea."

"Well, to look at Scott and Allison these days, you'd never figure it happened," Lydia replied. "I remember when they first got back together Scott made a big deal about how they'd have to spend time earning each others' trust again. Now, Scott may be a good guy – the best, even – but he's still a _guy_, and when you throw sex into the equation everything starts getting messy."

"Tell me about it," Sophie muttered.

"And here I go making you uncomfortable again," Lydia said. "I'm sorry, Sophie. I didn't mean to, you know, keep bringing that up."

"Seems its the pertinent topic of discussion around here," Sophie said. "Anyway, it's fine. I have to learn to hear people talking about it sometime."

Lydia inclined her head toward the door where Allison just disappeared again. "So, I hear your opinion of Allison is a little different from mine, huh?" Sophie's eyes widened. "Werewolf hearing, Sophie. Plus, Scott tells me and Stiles pretty much everything."

Sophie shook her head. "You probably think I'm crazy. Most people usually do, after a while."

"You're talking to a werewolf chick," Lydia said. "You think Allison's the embodiment of some Greek god your ancestors worshiped? Fine. Having people put guns to your head – and worse – teaches you to tolerate the little things. Come on, class is going to start."

***[]***

Declan's final class of the day was history, with Dr. Neeman. As he approached, he saw Allison about to enter the classroom. "Hey, Allison," he said, and she turned to look at him. There was a look of strain on her face. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"You didn't notice last period?" Allison asked. "Scott was sitting between me and Stiles. It was awkward."

"Yeah," Declan said. "That's a downer."

Allison shook her head, to clear away the cobwebs. "And I thought lunch had been awkward," she said. "Whatever. You have history next?"

Declan nodded and the two entered the room. At Allison's advice they selected seats next to each other near the back of the room, Allison explaining that when Dr. Neeman got excited during a lecture he had a tendency to spit, and the first three rows were referred to by students as the 'splash zone.'

"How's your day been?" Allison asked.

Just as he was about to respond, both Sophie and Bridget walked in. He watched them as they both waved shyly to him and Allison and took seats a couple rows in front of them. Declan was still watching when Bridget dropped the pen she was carrying and bent to pick it up. He felt his head swim momentarily. "Confusing."

Allison followed his gaze. "Still both of them, huh?"

Declan shook his head. "The whole thing's ridiculous," he said. "I can't even sort out how I feel about them because who knows how much of it has to do with their powers? I think they don't even know. And then I think to myself, if it was just their powers, wouldn't it be happening with Nia, too? And wouldn't Curtis be drooling all over them – or, you know, _more_ than he normally would, anyway? There's too many questions and not enough answers. I hate it."

Allison quirked an eyebrow at him. "I think you may have just defined being a teenager," she said.

He gave her an affectionate glance. When he spoke, there was no malice in his voice. "Don't give me that Full House crap," he said. "I should be able to just decide how I feel about them and then do whatever I can do about it. You know, I really envy my brother sometimes. He never second guesses himself. Not once."

Allison shook her head. "The fact that you second guess things is what makes you a better man than Curtis," she said. "Maybe not a happier man, but a better one. And I don't think Bridget _or_ Sophie could ever like Curtis more than they like you."

He gave her a sad but amused look. "Now if only there wasn't a 'they' in that last sentence, I'd be all set."

Allison was about to respond with a joke, something to cheer Declan up, when Stiles slipped into the room and her stomach bottomed out. Before she could recover and think of something to say, he'd slipped into the last remaining available seat and the lesson began.

An hour, a reading and essay assignment, a pop quiz, and an introductory lecture later, the class – and the school day – ended. Wearier than he thought he'd be, Declan collected his books into a pile. _So much for me being the "book learnin'" member of the family_, he thought. _I've gotta stop missing school so much if I ever want to really graduate. I wonder how Curtis managed it. Cheated, probably_.

He followed Allison, Bridget, Sophie, and Stiles out of the classroom and then out of the school. "So, what now?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Allison asked.

"Well, don't groups of teenagers typically go to a diner or something after school?" Bridget asked. "That's what usually happens on TV."

"Honey, I wouldn't use what you see on TV to figure out what happens out here," a voice from behind them said. Lydia and Scott were also emerging from the school.

"How was biology?" Stiles asked.

Lydia shrugged. "Meh," she said. "I didn't really understand most of what he was saying."

Stiles and Scott both rolled their eyes. "You know you can stop pretending that you're an airhead, right?" Scott asked.

Lydia shrugged again. "Force of habit," she said. "Let me have this."

Scott still shook his head, but dropped the subject. "In any case, we have a meeting back at the house," he said. "To see if Gunther and Curtis found anything today on Bealstock."

"What kind of name is 'Bealstock,' anyway?" Lydia asked, as the group of teenagers moved toward the parking lot.

"The kind of name something that is completely not scared of getting beaten up for sounding like a pansy might have," Scott said, wryly.

"Fair point."

When they reached their respective vehicles, Scott hesitated. "I'd like to have a word with Allison before we get going, if that's okay."

Lydia glanced around. "Doesn't really effect my bunch," she said. "You guys chat. We'll meet you back at the house."

She pulled open her door. _Guess that means we're taking the same car,_ Declan thought. _Please, God – I don't know that I really believe in you, but if you're there, save me from any more Amnisiade mixed signal hand holding._ To his relief, Sophie made a dash for the passenger side door and climbed into the front, leaving a perplexed-looking Nia to climb in next to Declan.

Once they were all in, Lydia started the car and backed away. They could all see Stiles and Bridget standing by Stiles' Jeep as Scott and Allison, a few yards away, were talking. Even from a distance, Declan could tell that neither Scott nor Allison looked happy. "I think Scott'll wind up riding with Stiles back to the house," he predicted.

Nia shook her head. "I think Scott much prefers 'riding' with Allison," she said. "If everything they moan at night is any indication."

Declan rolled his eyes. "You notice how there hasn't been so much of that moaning lately, Nia?"

Lydia looked at them through the rear view mirror. "Are they really that bad that you guys keep track?"

Declan grinned. "Much louder and we'll have to start charging the neighbors for the show. But don't tell them I said that."

Lydia rolled her eyes in response. "Typical," she said. "Of them, not you. Although that was the most typically male thing I've heard you say yet, Declan. Just when I was starting to think I had you figured out."

Declan spread his hands. "I'm not so complicated," he said.

"He says that as a defense mechanism," Nia said. "

"Thanks, Nia. It's so nice how you always keep the mood light." Declan's grin faded as Scott and Allison's forms faded behind them. "Do you think they'll be all right? Scott and Allison?"

"They've been through worse than this," Lydia said. "Granted, the things they've been through have twisted their relationship past what any of us thought was the point where things could still be fixed. But they did manage to fix things then. I guess. Honestly, I really don't know. I doubt they know."

"Makes you wonder why any of us bother," Declan muttered.

"Why's that?" Lydia asked.

_ Damn werewolf hearing_, Declan thought to himself. "I don't know," he said. "They just seem so in love, you know? Like, the way he looks at her, and the way she breathes different whenever he's around, and the way he stays behind her chair when he pulls it out for her so that they brush against each other when she sits down. If all that can't work, what can?"

Lydia eyed him in the rearview mirror. "Declan Kage, I believe you are a romantic. Now I really don't have you figured out."

Sophie had turned to look at him, too, although she didn't say anything, just stared with an unreadable look on her face. Declan felt his face color at her stare. "I don't know," he said. "I guess maybe I'm just rambling."

Nia looked between Sophie and Declan and shook her head, but must have had an ounce of mercy in her after all, because she didn't say anything. The four spent the rest of the car ride in silence.

When they arrived at the McCall house, they found that both Gunther and Curtis' vehicles were already back. Declan's father and brother were both sitting in the kitchen when the four walked inside. Gunther attempted a casual air. "How was school, son?" he asked.

Declan shrugged. "Okay," he said. "How'd your day go?"

Gunther craned his neck to see who was among the teens who'd just come in. "Not as eventful as we'd hoped," he said. "Where's Scott? I'd rather not have to recite everything twice."

"He, Stiles, Bridget and Allison are following," Lydia said. "They should be here soon."

"Good," Gunther said. "Today might not have gone great, but we still have a few things we need to discuss."

Declan was about to pull up a seat himself when he realized that the kitchen wasn't going to be big enough for everyone to sit comfortably. "How about we move this into the living room?" he suggested. "More space for everyone involved."

Gunther pushed back from the table, not saying a word, and all of them made their way into the living room. Declan took the moment to examine his father. _He seems stressed,_ Declan thought. _I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him this stressed. This isn't good_.

True to Lydia's words, a few minutes later Scott, Bridget, Stiles and Allison showed up. From Bridget's slightly windswept look, Declan assumed he'd been correct, and Scott had wound up catching his ride back to the house with Stiles. His eyes lingered on Bridget, particularly on her own eyes. _I think they're tinged with red_, he thought. _Like her wings_. She caught him looking and gave him a shy wave, which made him blush and nod to acknowledge her, quickly turning to face his father.

Gunther was clearly noticing Bridget too. For some reason he looked upset, although Declan couldn't immediately work out why, and whatever it was he seemed to bury it. "Scott," he said. "I trust that everything at school went okay?"

Scott nodded, coming to sit on the arm of the sofa. "Yeah," he said. "No Bealstock sightings."

"Wait a minute, we were worried about him showing up at school?" Stiles asked.

"Figured it was a possibility," Scott replied. "Not that there's much we could have done except run. Didn't want to worry you."

"In the future, I'd rather worry ahead of time," Stiles said. "Having to worry retroactively means I'm doing it for the entire day in about ten seconds. That's worry overdose."

"Honestly, for all we know about him, he could well show up any time," Gunther said. "I'm afraid our search today didn't turn anything up. All my old contacts are tapped out. None of them have ever heard of Bealstock, or for that matter anything matching the description you gave us. We've tried getting outside the box about as far as we can, thinking up creatures that change shape or cause hallucinations or anything else that might explain why no one's ever apparently seen something like this thing, but we've officially hit a brick wall. Curtis went back over the woods again, but there's nothing there – no tracks, no torn clothing, nothing. And since you said it didn't have a scent, Scott, I doubt you'd have much more luck. We're officially at square one."

Scott's face was sinking throughout this whole monologue. "Great," he said. "So what we do know is that it's impossible to track, impossibly fast and strong, likes to eat supernatural creatures so long as they're 'pure,' which we think has something do with whether said supernatural creature has ever killed but we can't be sure, and that it apparently can also exert some kind of influence over whether a werewolf is transformed or not."

"You forgot the creepy nursery-rhyme voice," Stiles said.

"Thanks," Scott said, sarcastically.

"And we've got other problems," Gunther said. When Scott looked blank, he continued. "The full moon. It's in three days."

Scott's face remained blank for a second, as though his mind was refusing to process this detail. The moment passed but, to Declan, he still looked tired. "Which is just what we need right now," he said. "And, like you said, Bealstock could strike at any moment."

Gunther nodded. "If the thing has any sense of tactics – and any knowledge about nymphs and werewolves, which I think we can all agree it has – then the full moon would be the perfect time for it to strike."

Stiles raised his hand. "Uh, how is the night where the two resident werewolves are enraged beyond reason 'the perfect time to strike?'"

"Confusion," Declan spoke up. "We're at our weakest and least organized. Not only can we not rely on Scott and Lydia in the fight, we have to actively monitor them to make sure they don't bust loose and start killing regular people out on the street."

"Add to the mix the fact that we have to keep Bridget, Sophie and Nia locked up and away from men on the full moon, and our strength is pretty seriously divided," Gunther said. He sighed. "Which is why I think we need to divide ourselves as little as possible. I understand that you didn't want to use this house for your transformations, Scott, and I respect that, but I don't see a better way. We need to be close enough to each other to be able to help. We can lock you and Lydia in the basement and use that trick with the wolfsbane to keep you in, and we can keep the girls upstairs. Allison can stay directly with them to make sure they stay okay. Curtis, Declan, Stiles and I can stay on the ground floor, and from there we can respond to any threat to either group."

Scott was nodding, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "You're right," he said. "I didn't want to use this house for this. But like you said, I don't think we have a choice."

"There is one choice," Allison said. Everyone turned to look at her. "Call my father. We set up a shelter back for Lydia's first full moon."

Scott shook his head. "Do you really think this is a good time to be including your father?" he asked. "You know, with everything?"

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Even Scott, who, Declan had come to realize, had a tendency to say the wrong thing sometimes, realized he'd stepped in it. He opened his mouth – _I hope to apologize_, Declan thought – but Allison beat him to the punch. "Do you think this is a good time to be cutting him out?" she countered.

Gunther was looking between the two teenagers with a concerned look. "Little lady's got a fair point," he said. "I can't imagine Chris being too happy about being cut out of this. And frankly, we can use the extra muscle. But, about this shelter," he said, turning his attention to Allison, "I don't know. Tell me about it."

"It's out in the woods," she said. "Pretty much just a ditch that we filled in with concrete to turn into a structure. The concrete's mixed with trace amounts of wolfsbane, so the whole shelter keeps werewolves docile."

Gunther nodded. "Figured," he said. "I've used things like that myself. Two problems. One, if Bealstock does show up, we don't want our werewolves sick to their stomachs with wolfsbane poisoning. We can still use it to keep them away from the stairs here, but they'll still be at full strength down in the basement if we need them. Two, I don't like the idea of being out in the woods. This Bealstock thing seemed pretty at home out there when it fought Scott. I'd rather this fight happen on our home turf, if it has to happen at all."

Allison nodded. "Makes sense."

"That said, I still think a call to your daddy is in order," Gunther said. Allison's face clouded. "Don't sweat it, honey. I'll call him."

"Thanks," Allison said.

Gunther waved her off. "Don't mention it," he said. "He'll probably be more receptive if it comes from me, anyway. And we really need everyone on board for this." Gunther looked around at the assembled teenagers. For a second, he seemed angry. "Goddamn, you're just a bunch of kids," he said. "This shouldn't be happening to you."

Scott nodded. "None of us asked for any of this," he said, standing to look at the assemblage as well. "But we've got it. We have to believe that we'll be okay if we stick together."

Curtis rolled his eyes. "Oh, the 'go team' speech," he said. "How classic."

Curtis' sarcasm seemed to dissolve the meeting. Gunther, with a stern look for his older son, got up and walked out of the living room, presumably to call Chris Argent and relay their plans. Lydia and Stiles both told Scott that they were heading home and agreed to meet up at school again the next day. Nia, as usual, drifted away by herself. Scott let himself settle down onto the couch. Bridget picked up the remote and flipped the television on and she and Sophie both settled in on the floor to watch. Scanning the room, Declan saw Allison alternating glances between Scott and the door Gunther had just passed through. Declan pulled himself up, walked over to Allison, and asked, "How about some target practice?"

Gratefully, Allison nodded, and the two proceeded into the backyard. She picked up the bow she kept there and glanced at Declan. "What are you going to use?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, smiling sheepishly. "I just wanted to get out of the house. Figured you could do with getting out, too."

Allison shoulder her quiver and drew an arrow. "Thanks," she said.

"You feel like talking about any of that?" Declan asked.

"What, my boyfriend who's pulling away because he's afraid our sex life is going to get me killed, or my father who thinks I'm a slut because of said sex life?" she asked. "No, not really."

"Scott's not pulling away from you," Declan said. "Honest, if anything, I think he just loves you more."

Allison smiled at him, but the smile was pained. "Thanks, Declan," she said. "But really, I don't feel like talking about it." She released her first arrow. It landed squarely in the center of the target. Allison glanced at Declan sidelong. "There anything you feel like talking about?"

Declan buried his hands in his pockets. "Like what?"

Allison quirked an eyebrow as she let her second arrow fly. It nestled into the target right alongside the first. "Bridget spent the entirety of second period checking you out."

"She did?" Declan asked.

Allison nodded, knocked her third arrow, but then let the bowstring go limp. "Totally did," she said. "I'd have brought it up in history if class hadn't started so quick."

Declan sat down heavily on a tree stump, finding it more comfortable than he'd thought he would. "I really don't know what to do," he said. "Rationally, I shouldn't go after either of them, because hello, they're nymphs. Irrationally, I want both of them, and that just feels wrong. Every time I see Bridget, it's like I can barely breathe. But then earlier, I held Sophie's hand."

"Was it intense hand-holding?" Allison asked.

Declan nodded. "The most intense hand-holding I've ever done. And I've held a few hands."

Allison's brow knotted. "We are just talking about hand-holding here, right?"

"Yes, Allison."

"Okay, just making sure," she said. "Spend an hour around my Aunt Kate and you'll spend the next six months reading innuendos into everything you hear, too."

"I just don't know what to do about them," Declan said, shooting past the comment about Kate Argent. "I care about both of them. I'm, you know, attracted to both of them. I just don't know what to do."

Allison put the bow down and sat down on the ground in front of Declan. "What have you done in the past when you haven't been sure what to do about something?" she asked.

Declan grimaced. "I've asked my father. You can just imagine how that'd go."

Allison sighed. "Yeah, that probably wouldn't go over so well," she said.

"Maybe I should just put it aside," Declan said. "You know, until all this craziness passes."

Allison shook her head. "Take it from me," she said. "The craziness never passes. You deserve to know how they feel at least, Declan. You deserve to know if whatever's going on right now can ever be, you know, _more_."

"Any idea how to find that out?" he asked, feeling his voice break a little. _Way to sound strong, Declan_.

"No," Allison responded, pushing herself back to her feet and picking up her bow. She knocked another arrow and drew the string back, muttering to herself. "All we ever find are questions."

The shot went wide.

***[]***

Author's Note: PHEW. That was a behemoth. Really, I never intended this chapter to be this long. But I've always subscribed to the notion that each chapter is as long as it needs to be, and as I was writing this one, it turned out it needed to be this long. Anyway, please review to let me know what you think.


	16. Bad Moon, Cold Wind

BAD MOON, COLD WIND

Declan sat out front of the McCall house, watching as the sun slowly sank in the sky. Mercifully, the full moon had fallen on a Friday, which meant they wouldn't have school to deal with in the morning, although Declan had a sneaking suspicion that he and his friends (because, he realized, that's what they were – his friends, something he'd never had before) wouldn't be attending school after any full moons, and there wouldn't be anyone to stop them. Gunther certainly wouldn't raise a fuss about it.

He heard the door open and shut behind him. When he saw, in the periphery of his vision, a composite bow, he knew who it was. "How are they doing?" he asked.

Allison sighed and bent to sit beside him on the steps. "About how you'd expect," she said. "Scott and Lydia are getting irritable and can't focus on conversation. They're already down in the basement, although we won't spread the wolfsbane on the top of the stairs until the sun goes down. No need to actually trap them any longer than necessary. You and Curtis got your stuff out of the basement, right?"

Declan nodded. "Packed up tight in Curtis' car," he said, nodding at the shiny old sports car his brother drove.

Allison followed his nod to the car. "What is that thing, anyway?" she asked. "An Impala?"

Declan shook his head. "Nah," he said. "Couldn't afford an Impala. That's an old 442 that Curtis bought when it was a piece of rusted junk. He restored it inch by inch. Loves the damn thing more than he loves anything else." _Or anyone else_, Declan thought, and judging by the look Allison's face she was thinking the same thing. _Change the subject_. "When's your Dad getting here?"

Allison's face fell further. _Great job, Declan_, he thought. "Soon," she said. She looked up at the sky. "He told your dad that he, my aunt Kate, and a couple of their men would be here before sundown. I kind off figured they'd be here by now."

"Worried?" Declan asked.

"About what?" Allison replied. "That my judgmental father is about to show up to the house where I _was_, at least, having crazy sex with my boyfriend all the time? That said father will have a gun and will be here for the express purpose of keeping an eye on said boyfriend? Or that some ridiculously fast and strong _thing_ might show up and slaughter all of us?"

"That thing you do, where you summarize just how much shit we're in," Declan said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don't do it so much, okay? It kind of makes my head hurt."

"Sorry," Allison said. "Guess I'm just on edge."

"One step at a time," Declan said. He lifted his right hand to reveal that it clasped his pistol. "Let's get through tonight and then see where we're at tomorrow." Even with these inspirational words, he hesitated before continuing. "How are the girls?"

"Okay, I guess," Allison said. "I really don't know what to expect, and it's not like Gunther can fill us in. In the past they've just chained the girls up for the night and left them, and they always black out so they can't really remember what it's like."

"I heard that your aunt will be joining you on chaperone duty upstairs," Declan said.

Allison inclined her eyebrows, looking none too pleased. "Yeah," she said. "At least if Bealstock shows up I can use her as a human shield."

"You think he will?" Declan asked, before he could think better of saying it out loud. "Show up, I mean. Bealstock."

"Who can say?" Allison asked. "If we knew that much about him we wouldn't be in so much shit."

"Point."

An SUV pulled onto the street and Allison visibly tensed. "That'll be them."

Declan glanced at her as they both stood, brushing themselves off. "If you don't want to be the welcoming committee, I can handle it," Declan said. "They got no grudge with me."

"Thanks, Declan," Allison said. "But I need to face them." She laughed. "At least all the sex Scott and I haven't been having has left me on edge. Should make it easier to stand up to them."

The SUV pulled to a stop in the crowded McCall driveway – Curtis' 442, Gunther's truck, Scott's car, which still wasn't working for some unidentifiable reason, Stiles' Jeep and Allison's motorcycle were already parked there. "We're gonna need a bigger driveway," Declan muttered. Feeling that it'd probably be impolite to have a gun drawn when the guests arrived, Declan placed the firearm carefully into the waistband of his pants.

The SUV's doors opened and a small group of people began climbing out. Chris and Kate Argent, Declan recognized from the dinner on their arrival into town; however, the three burly men accompanying them were strangers. Allison didn't pay them any attention so neither did Declan. Allison's attention was focused solely on her father.

Chris strode up. Declan tried to read the look on his face, but the number of emotions swirling across it was truly remarkable – he seemed happy, sad, angry, and frustrated all at the same time. And tense, but from everything Scott had relayed since the Kages had come to Beacon Hills, Declan gathered that Chris always looked tense, unless he was trying to manipulate someone. When Chris spoke, it was to Declan. "Hello, Mr. Kage," he said. "It's Declan, right?"

Declan nodded, extended a hand. "Yes, sir," he said. "Declan Kage, at your service."

Kate looked him up and down. "Bet he gives excellent service." She turned her gaze to Allison. "You tried him on for size yet, little niece?"

Before Allison could retort – Chris was acting like he hadn't heard what Kate said at all and wasn't reacting – Declan jumped in. "You must be Aunt Kate," he said, as though he hadn't recognized her. "I hear you get your mouth in all kinds of places it don't belong."

Kate turned to look at Chris. "Kid's got a smart mouth," she said.

Declan shook his head. "Just so we're clear, we aren't here for socializing," he said. "None of us are too fond of you right now, and I understand that feeling's mutual. Let's just cut all the shit right here, leave it at the door, and focus on making sure that everyone comes through tonight alive. We all good on that?"

Chris was looking at Declan like he hadn't really seen him until that moment. "We're 'good on that,' Declan," he replied. "If you don't mind, we'll get ourselves situated. See you inside."

Declan and Allison parted so that Chris, Kate, and their three backup men could enter the house. Once they were inside, and out of earshot, Allison turned to Declan. "That was impressive," she said.

Declan shrugged, blushing slightly and starting to push into the house, too. "I know you wanted to fight your own battles where they're concerned, but I've been saving that line to use on your aunt ever since you all told us how awful she is. Couldn't help myself."

***[]***

Allison followed Declan inside, just in time to witness Chris shaking Gunther's hand. "Good to have you here, Chris," Gunther said. In his other hand he held his shotgun.

Chris looked around. "How's the preparation?"

Gunther nodded. "Going well," he said. "Scott and Lydia are downstairs already. They're already a little snappish so I wouldn't recommend saying 'hi.' The girls are upstairs in their bedroom. Matter of fact," he said, turning to look at Allison, despite the fact that her entrance wasn't in the periphery of his vision. _How do they always do that?_ she thought. "You should get upstairs," he continued, to Allison. "We've never gotten a good look at what this night's like for them. It'd be awful instructive to have someone witness the whole thing."

Allison nodded and, gritting her teeth, looked to her aunt. "Shall we?" she asked, indicating the stairs, everything from the look on her face to the gesture of her hand to the tone of her voice laced with sarcasm.

"After you," Kate said, bowing slightly. Gritting her teeth a little more, Allison walked by her and hefted her bow onto her shoulder to climb the stairs. At the top she saw that the door the girls' room was still open.

Kate caught her up at the top of the stairs. "We fit a lock on the outside of the door," Allison explained. "As soon as we shut the door it locks and can only be opened from the outside."

"So we're stuck inside with them if they go murderous?" Kate asked.

"What's the matter, Aunt Kate, nervous?" Allison asked. "Don't worry. I've got your back." Kate rolled her eyes at the sarcasm. "Anyway, you can relax. We're not their type."

"I'm everyone's type," Kate said, tossing her hair slightly. Allison stopped to stare at her. "What?"

"I'm debating whether it's possible that you just said that without realizing how many jokes I could make."

"What about keeping the peace to make sure everyone comes through tonight okay?" Kate asked, although she was grinning a predatory grin.

"That's all well and good for Declan and dad and the boys," Allison said. "But I don't care. You're already dead to me. If I push you too far and you try something, I'll put an arrow in your heart faster than you can blink."

Kate laughed. "You've never even killed a beast like your erstwhile boyfriend," she said. "You're not going to bag a human as your first kill, and you're sure as hell not going to start with your own flesh and blood. You haven't got that in you."

Allison sneered. "Seems you've been pretty concerned with what's been in me lately," she said. "Seems you think that what's been _in_ me has maybe clouded my judgment. Seems maybe you should be rethinking what you _know_ about me."

Kate's cocky grin faltered and Allison smiled, triumphant. Her aunt readjusted her shirt, which had the added effect of exposing the pistol she had in the waistband of her pants. "Fine," she said. "You want to play it that way, that's the way we'll play it."

Allison shook her head. "We're not playing anymore, Kate."

This time, Kate sneered. "I'll tell you when we're not playing anymore," she said. She looked back around at the open door. "Time you introduced me to our charges for the night, right?"

The two of them finished their trek down the hall and entered the room. Sophie was sitting on the bed, reading. On first glance she seemed relaxed, but when Allison looked closer she could see how stiff the mousy girl's body was. Nia sat by the window, passive as ever, looking out. Bridget was pacing back and forth in front of the dresser. All three of them wore relatively little clothing; whenever Allison saw them around the house, with the very occasional exception of Bridget they were all very modest, covering as much of themselves as possible. Now all three were in nothing but panties and loose t-shirts. As soon as she was inside, Allison turned and swung the door shut.

Bridget gave her an appreciative look. "Thanks," she said. "We knew none of the guys would be dumb enough to come up here right now, but still, it felt weird, being so naked with the door open."

"Sounds kind of kinky to me," Kate said.

Allison ignored her. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you, you know, almost naked?"

"Comfort," Nia muttered. Her voice sounded muddy and sluggish.

"In a nutshell," Bridget said. She stopped pacing and squeezed her eyes shut. "That was not a pun. That was not a pun. I swear that was not a pun."

Kate laughed, but again Allison ignored her. "Why's it more comfortable?"

Bridget opened her eyes. "When we go into our trances, our bodies heat up," she said. To Allison, her words seemed more hurried and agitated than usual. "Sometimes a lot. We think it's kind of like having a fever. Anyway, it's just more comfortable without clothes."

"Okay," Allison said. "No judgments. I'm totally cool with whatever you guys need to feel better during this."

"Except ripping the heads off the guys downstairs," Kate said. "We're not so cool with that. Although I'd make an exception for Scott. Or even the bouncy nerd with the bad jokes. Miles, was it?"

"You're Kate, right?" Bridget asked. _She definitely sounds agitated_, Allison thought. _Like she's trying to hold herself together and it's not working_. "We kind of met a while back, but you were busy pointing guns at us so I just wanted to be sure."  
"Yeah, I'm Kate," she said.

"You're a bitch," Bridget said, sounding as though she wasn't entirely sure what she was saying or that it was out loud.

Kate's eyebrows raised. "That's it?" she asked. "Just, 'you're a bitch?' No witty lines?"

"Well, you _are_," Bridget muttered.

"Forgive Bridget," Sophie said, from the bed, still reading her book. Her voice was coming through slow and strained, like it took great effort to speak. _Or to speak precisely_, Allison thought. "She always falls apart a little on the full moon."  
"Don't pretend it doesn't bug you too," Bridget said. She raised a hand to her mouth and started chewing on one of her fingernails. "Oh, man, I hate this."

"What's it like?" Allison asked, crossing over to sit on the end of the bed, careful to avoid Sophie's feet.

"Like?" Bridget asked back. "It's not really like anything, yet. I mean, I guess I'm not exactly acting like I usually do, right? But it's not like something I can pin down, put my finger on, you know? I just feel really anxious and I'm already sweating, but this isn't the part where my skin gets warm because that comes later."

Allison and Kate exchanged a look, both of their eyebrows raised. "Okay, Bridget," Allison said. "Why don't you try to settle down? This will probably be easier on you if you don't let it get you all agitated."

Bridget glanced out the window. The sun was down and the moon was rising. She shook her head. "This isn't about settling down," she said. "It's about the opposite."

"Maybe that's what you think it's _about_," Allison said, standing and walking over to her friend. "But it'd probably still help you to try."

Allison reached out to touch Bridget's arm reassuringly, but Bridget recoiled. "Don't touch me!" she said. Allison retracted her hand quickly. "Sorry, it's just – right now, all the nerves in my body feel like they're on fire. We can feel everything. We knew you were coming before you reached the door because of changes in the airflow from where you disturbed it. Touching me right now would be...bad."

Allison nodded, backing up, holding her hands up in front of her. "Okay," she said. "No touching. Got it. Any other ground rules?"

Bridget chuckled, a gesture laced with nerves. "Don't let us kill anyone?" she said, trying for a brave smile and falling just short.

***[]***

From upstairs, Scott heard Stiles yell down. "We're putting out the wolfsbane, guys," he said.

Scott growled in return. "You don't actually have to yell," he yelled back. "I can hear you just fine."

"Uh, sorry," Stiles muttered, but his voice was quickly drowned out by the sound of bags shifting and being unzipped.

"You don't have to attack him like that," Lydia said. She was leaning against a wall on the far end of the room.

"You're right," Scott said. "I don't feel like I really care, but you're right."

Lydia pushed off from the wall and walked over to him. "What's up with you?" she asked. "You held it together better than this the last couple of full moons."

"Do you really feel like talking right now?" Scott asked, rhetorically.

"No," Lydia replied, placing her hands on her hips. "But I figure we should, while we still have the chance."

"I can already feel the change starting," Scott said. "We don't have time to talk."

Lydia shrugged. She looked down at her hands, focusing in on her fingertips. Seeming to decide that Scott was right, she turned and started removing her clothes. Annoyed, Scott began to do the same; they'd talked about it beforehand and had agreed that a few minutes lack of modesty wouldn't bother them as much as losing another set of clothes when they transformed and started tearing each other up.

In the back of his head, Scott had to admit that he was scared. He could still remember the sudden, shooting pain he'd had the other day when his wolf side had begun to emerge. That time, the pain had been enough to halt the transformation. This time, nothing could halt the transformation – he'd checked with Dr. Deaton just to be sure, but Deaton had confirmed that there was no known way to prevent a werewolf from changing on the full moon, and he'd known a few who had tried.

What had really freaked Scott at the time was how Deaton had declined to go any further into _how_ they'd tried to keep themselves from changing.

The change was definitely approaching now. Scott could feel the familiar itching in his fingertips and gums. The pain hadn't begun yet, but then, the change itself hadn't fully begun, either. If he was right about the pain from the last time, it was triggered by the first actual physical change. Last time it'd been his eyes; every transformation was different, but they did usually start there.

True to form, when Lydia whirled – now completely naked – her eyes were glowing blue and her hair was growing in fuller. Scott looked down at his hands – his claws hadn't sprouted yet. _What the hell is going on?_ Scott thought, watching as Lydia fell forward onto all fours and howled, her change just about complete.

"_Wolfy isn't feeling so good since it met Bealstock_," a voice whispered, seeming to come out of the shadows of the basement. Scott felt his blood go cold. Lydia whipped her fully-transformed head around.

"_That's a problem_," Bealstock said. Scott scanned the darkness. He could see every individual detail on every brick in the basement, but he couldn't see any sign of Bealstock. _There's no way he's actually down here_, Scott thought. _Unless he can turn invisible. As if he didn't already have enough going for him._

"_Need wolfy strong if it's going to be new acolyte_," Bealstock said, its whispy, childlike voice filling the basement. Lydia growled, picked up a spare wooden crate that had been left in the basement and hurled it against a wall, shattering it. "_Maybe just a snack tonight. Maybe tonight we have fun. Does wolfy want fun? Oh, yes, wolfy very much wants fun._"

"What do you want?" Scott yelled.

"_A little chaos_," Bealstock replied, simply.

***[]***

Upstairs, Allison was startled when Nia's head whipped around. "Bealstock is here," she said.

"What?" Bridget asked. She'd broken out in a cold sweat a few minutes before, but now it was fairly pouring down her skin. Her clothes clung tightly to her. Sophie had discarded her book and had been staring at the ceiling as resolutely as possible, but Allison could detect a slight twitch that ran through her whole body. "What do you mean, here?"

"He's _here_," Nia said, standing slowly. Her voice had taken on a hard, grating edge and, as Allison watched, her eyes began glowing bright green.

Kate pulled her pistol out and, hesitating only slightly, Allison drew an arrow. "Nia," she said. "Your eyes. Do they always do that on the full moon?"

"No," she replied. "This is new. I – I don't think I can stop it."

"Stop what?"

Before the words had faded from the air, the glow in Nia's eyes pulsed once, sending a wave of green energy surging out. It hit Allison, Kate, Bridget and Sophie before proceeding, unhindered, through the floor, walls, and ceiling.

"What was that?" Kate asked.

Nia looked scared, the first time Allison could remember seeing a definitive emotion on her face. "I can't stop it," she said. "I think he's controlling me."

Kate looked at Allison. "I don't know what's going on, but I feel fine," she said. "Whatever that was, I think we're okay. We just need to get Harry Potter over there under control, before - "

"Before what?" Allison asked, turning to look at her aunt. The sight that met her eyes made her do a double take.

Kate was crying. "I - " she said, sounding surprised. She reached up and felt at the salty tears that were leaking from her eyes. "I don't know," she said. "I really don't know. I mean, I _know_, but I can't let myself know, you know? And I guess I _knew_, too, even though I didn't want to know, and that's why I did what I did, and none of it can matter now except it's all that matters, really."

"Kate, what - " Allison began to ask, but she never got the chance to finish the sentence. Her vision flooded red and her head swam. She dropped her bow and the arrow she'd drawn rolled harmlessly away, under the bed. She reached a hand to her chest and felt her heart beating fast, her skin getting clammy, and suddenly the only name she could bring to mind was Scott's.

***[]***

In the living room, Declan and the other men were completely unaware of what had been transpiring above and below them. They'd heard the box crash when Lydia had thrown it but had all just assumed that it'd been werewolves being werewolves. When the wave of green light passed through the room, all of them were on their feet in an instant.

"What was that?" Chris asked.

Gunther shook his head. "No idea."

Declan raised his eyes. "Came from upstairs."

Chris started toward the stairs, but Gunther caught his arm. "No matter what's going on up there, it's definitely not safe for you, or any of us," he said. "We should call them and find out what's happening."

Chris pulled his cell phone out, muttering while he did. "Next time we bring the walkie-talkies."

He didn't get a chance to finish dialing Kate's number. The wave's power overcame him first and he dropped the phone and sat heavily back onto the couch behind him. "I swore it wouldn't be like this for her," he said, burying his head in his hands. "I _swore_ it and I've never sworn anything before. Nothing's been important. And now look at how its turned out."

Declan made a move toward him, but before he could complete the move he felt the wave's power take hold of him, too. He coughed once, pressing the hand that held his pistol sideways against his chest. He doubled over, and when he stood, all of the other men in the room were mumbling nonsense, some of them crying.

Declan looked up at the ceiling again and, as though he was walking through a dream toward reality, he began walking toward the stairs.

***[]***

Downstairs, Bealstock materialized out of the shadows just as the wave passed. _He definitely wasn't there a second ago, _Scott thought. _If we survive this I'll have to add invisibility to his list of tricks._ "What do you want?" Scott repeated.

"_Wolfy asks the wrong question_," Bealstock muttered, the voice still seeming to reverberate from all around. "_What does wolfy want? That's the question_."

Bealstock turned suddenly and drove a fist into the face of Lydia, who'd been snarling and circling him, waiting for the right time to strike. The punch sent Lydia flying against the far wall of the basement.

Scott cried out and charged Bealstock, but he was still in his human form and when Bealstock turned it barely had to swat its fist to send Scott flying as well, battering him against the wall opposite Lydia. As Scott slid down the wall, he took stock of himself and realized that, unlike last time, nothing was broken, torn, strained, or even particularly badly bruised. _He went soft on me_, Scott thought, pulling himself back to his feet. _Why?_ "So what do I want? Are you going to tell me?"

Bealstock laughed, a high-pitched giggle that sounded even more wrong for his unnaturally tall, muscular, masculine build than his usual speaking voice did. "_No_," Bealstock replied. "_We both already know what wolfy wants. And there she is._"

Scott followed Bealstock's gaze to the stairs that led back up into the house, to find Allison standing there, panting, apparently completely oblivious to the seven foot tall monster standing in the room. She was staring only at Scott.

"_Wolfy needs to loosen up_," Bealstock said, and Scott could hear the slight mocking note in its voice. "_All under this roof need to loosen up. All now feeling the effects of the reincarnation of Minthe's powers. Wolfy will too, once I release it. Then wolfy will be free to do everything it wants._"

Scott pried his eyes away from Allison – even though Bealstock hadn't released him yet, the look she was giving him was still enough to distract him, even under the circumstances – and looked back at Bealstock. "Why aren't you, then?" he asked. "Why are you doing all of this?"

"_Wolfy not very smart_," Bealstock said, shaking its head. "_Told wolfy, need acolyte. Don't need wolfy that can't change. Broke wolfy. Help fix wolfy. Explain fix to wolfy so that wolfy doesn't get broken again. Does wolfy understand?_"

Scott shook his head. "No," he said.

Bealstock giggled again. "_Doesn't matter_," it said. It waved its hand in Scott's direction and then focused its attention back on Lydia, just as Scott's eyes began to cloud over. "_Have fun. Bealstock knows we will._"

***[]***

Declan reached the door to Sophie, Bridget and Nia's room. It lay in splinters, from where Allison had kicked it open, although Declan didn't know that and wouldn't have cared. He pushed the remaining wreckage of the door open and stepped inside.

Instantly, Sophie and Bridget's heads snapped around. Nia, who was curled up in the corner, looked up at him. While Sophie and Bridget had identically blank looks on their faces, Nia's was full of fear. "Get out!" she said. "They'll kill you!"

"No, they won't," Declan heard himself saying. "I know they won't. I trust."

Bridget and Sophie were still looking at him with those blank looks. Both took a step toward him, at which point they bumped shoulders. Their heads snapped around again, this time to face each other, and they both let out long, low hisses.

"What's going on?" Declan asked, taking another step into the room.

Nia shook her head. "I don't know," she said. She buried her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body. "But I think I'm causing it."

Meanwhile, an unspoken war was being waged between Bridget and Sophie. Every couple of seconds one of them would flinch and move back a half step and the other would step forward. After a moment of this Declan had had enough. He reached forward and grasped Bridget's arm. Again she whirled to look at him. "I want you."

His eyes found Sophie. Distantly, he wondered if 'I'm sorry' would really cut it in this situation. However, Sophie didn't look hurt; her eyes were still as clouded over as Bridget's, and she was turning away from both of them and walking toward the door.

Declan turned back to Bridget and found that her eyes were no longer clouded over; in fact, they were more vibrantly alive than he'd ever seen them before. "Declan?" she asked, her voice a little muddy. "What's going on?"

Declan held up a finger against her lips, the physical contact tantalizing both of them. "Don't worry," he said. "This is meant to be. I feel it. We're going to be okay."

Bridget's brows had knotted. "I've never felt like this before," she said. She pushed weakly against Declan. "I don't know what's happening."

"Shh," Declan whispered. "It's okay. Everything is okay."

Bridget's eyes fluttered shut and, with sudden force, her red wings exploded from her back, growing out almost instantly to their full four foot length and six foot height. The otherwise flimsy t-shirt she wore must have had holes cut in the back because her wings barely upset the shirt at all. When Bridget opened her eyes again, she still didn't look completely sure, but when she spoke, she said, "Kiss me."

Declan bent forward, wrapping his exceptionally strong arms around Bridget's neck – crossing them just above where her wings met her back – and bent forward. When his lips made contact with hers, he felt an amazingly strong buzz surge through his entire body. He felt a slight shudder from Bridget and knew that she must have been feeling something similar.

A second later, Declan felt a curious tingling all over his body, which accompanied something he'd never smelled before – a soft, sweet scent which wrapped itself around his brain and blocked out all other thoughts. He pulled back just enough to look into Bridget's eyes, which were practically glowing, and then they were collapsing back onto the bed, and whatever part of Declan's brain which was still consciously aware of what was going on knew that he could never stop, even if he wanted to.

***[]***

Sophie padded lightly down the stairs, aware only that she'd lost control and didn't have any idea how to get it back; indeed, in her trance, the concept of getting back her control was so foreign to her that she wasn't sure what it meant, really.

Sophie surveyed the living room as soon as she reached it. Most of the men there were sitting or laying down, curled up and muttering to themselves. Only one of them seemed coherent, and he was beating his fists against the door to the basement, yelling names. Allison's and Scott's and Lydia's. Strange. Irrelevant.

Sophie walked over toward him and he turned to face her, his face losing all color when he realized who she was. "You shouldn't be down here," he said. "You should be upstairs."

"I'm not upstairs," she heard herself say. "I'm here. With you. Don't you like that more?"

"Under the circumstances, no, not really," the man said. Was he a man or a boy? Did it matter? He was resisting. Sophie felt herself reach out with her pheromones. Despite the trance's effects on her actions, a part of Sophie's mind was still filled with wonder – neither she, nor any of her sisters, had ever consciously used their pheromones before, and hadn't been sure it was possible to generate them at will.

Or direct them toward a specific person, which was what Sophie was doing. At the same time as the pheromones began to drift toward the man, Sophie felt her wings begin to shiver out of her back. Sophie had always enjoyed her wings, but this time the sensation of them spreading out of her back was different from any other time she'd experienced it. It made her skin tingle more, and a tight ache she felt between her legs – which she'd never consciously acknowledged in her life – grow worse.

"I need you," Sophie breathed, as her wings reached their full spread. She stepped daintily forward.

The man, who'd apparently been able to resist whatever Nia had done to all of them, was no match for a concentrated dose of her pheromones. "Yes," he said, sounding drunk. "Yes, I need you, too."

Sophie nodded, stepping forward again so that she was pressed against his chest. The pressure caused him to lean back against the door to the basement and she pressed forward again, feeling a strong physique through his clothes and her light t-shirt. She reached for the tips of her t-shirt and pulled up, realizing only after she'd torn the shirt to shreds that her wings had stretched themselves out through the holes she'd cut in the back. She stood there then, in nothing but her panties, and looked straight into the man's eyes. "Make love to me."

He nodded, again seeming drunk, and reached for her waist. "Of course," he mumbled, and a second later they tumbled to the floor.

***[]***

Nia looked up from her quiet sobs. The last she'd looked Declan and Bridget were getting too close. In the space of what felt like seconds to Nia, the two had gone from looking intensely at each other to...Nia did a double take. Declan was completely naked and Bridget wore only the t-shirt she'd started the night in, although it was now rolled up under her chin and wasn't covering anything. Bridget was on her back on the bed, her wings spread flat against it, her legs in the air, wrapped around Declan's waist. Declan was on top of her and was pushing himself up and down, their pelvic regions colliding. Nia felt every ounce of blood in her body go cold.

She stood and ran quickly to the bed, wrapping her arms around Declan's waist and trying to yank him off. As soon as she made contact, she felt his body start to slacken – her power, the one she knew about and understood at least, kicking in – but then she saw Bridget's eyes fly open angrily and felt her sister reach out to Declan with her pheromones. Nia had smelled the scent a few times before, although never this strong, and instantly Declan seemed to forget the weary intoxication of Nia's touch and resumed pounding himself into Bridget with increasing fervor.

"Please, Bridget, let him go!" Nia cried, stumbling backward when Declan swatted away her second attempt to pull him free. "You're going to kill him!"

"I'm not going to kill him," Bridget said, her voice punctuated by each thrust of Declan's hips. A low moan of pleasure escaped her lips before she could continue. "I'm going to free him."  
"That does not sound accurate!" Nia said. "Bridget, this is insane!"

"You should go," Bridget said. "Leave us be."

"No!" Nia said, stepping forward again, reaching for Declan again. "I won't let you do something you'll regret. I won't let you kill him!"

Before Nia could make contact again, though, Bridget's wings came alive and wrapped themselves, cocoon-like, around Declan's body. By the time Nia reached the bed again – only half a second later, if that – Bridget's wings had formed a shell around the two of them. Nia pounded her fists against Bridget's wings but found them to be completely unyielding. She scrambled all over the impossibly hard cocoon her sister had formed, all the time feeling them continuing to have sex inside, feeling for the seam where her wings met or overlapped, to try and peel them apart, but she couldn't find it. After a minute or so of useless attempts to pry Bridget's wings apart, Nia rolled off the bed, hitting her back hard against the floor, crying out slightly. The two on the bed paid her no mind; Nia could hear them both moaning and grunting in rising pleasure.

Nia looked sideways and saw a metallic glint. Her stomach plummeted; it was the arrow Allison had dropped earlier. Nia reached over and grasped it; sure enough the tip was sharp to the touch, so sharp that Nia pricked her finger testing it, instantly coating the tip of the arrow in her blood. She straightened up slowly, holding the arrow in front of her, sniffling through the tears that still flowed through her eyes. Bridget's red and orange wings were still wrapped tightly around her and Declan and the two of them were clearly accelerating their activities; Nia could hear Bridget panting heavily between every thrust, each of which was now rocking the bed.

Neither Sophie nor Bridget had ever injured their wings directly; the cuts to Sophie's back which had revealed that their wings always lay beneath the skin hadn't damaged her wings, only her back. Nia felt her grip tighten on the arrow. She had no idea if what she was about to do would permanently cripple her sister. "Forgive me, Bridget," she felt herself say, and then plunged the arrow down toward her sister's wings as hard as she could.

The arrow head shattered on impact, the shaft of the arrow bending. Nia stumbled and fell over from the unexpected redirection of the force of her blow. When she straightened up, her eyes wide with fear, the spot she'd hit on Bridget's wings was completely unblemished and she and Declan were continuing as though nothing had happened. Nia's brow furrowed in horror. She reached down for the twisted remnants of the arrow and picked it up, desperately scratching at the shell Bridget had formed, all worry about hurting her sister forgotten. Nothing she did so much as left a mark. Despite the membrane of the wings being thin and light, it was apparently rock-hard.

A second of futile scratching motions later, Nia dropped the arrow and collapsed backward, sobbing again. She stared in utter horror at the scene playing itself out on the bed for a second, but when she heard Bridget moan Declan's name it became too much. She crawled to the splintered door, managed to pick herself up outside of it, bypassing the prone form of Kate Argent, who'd apparently also crawled from the room but lost the last of her energy in the hallway and was just crying silently. Slowly, Nia stumbled down the stairs and into the living room. She scanned the room in increasing horror – all the men were prone, unfocused, and defenseless, and next to the door to the basement Nia saw that Sophie had also engaged someone in copulation. Both she and whoever she'd d snared were completely naked and Sophie was on top, bucking her hips wildly and moaning, running her hands through her hair, her purple wings shuddering the entire time.

Nia couldn't bring herself to look and see who her sister had ensnared. Now sobbing outright, she slid down the wall of the living room, sinking into a ball of lax muscles and complete despair.

***[]***

Meanwhile, in the basement, Allison watched Scott turn from the other thing he'd been speaking with to face her. "We shouldn't," she heard him say.

She stepped forward, pulling the blouse she wore off over her head, leaving her in jeans and a bra. "We should," she said. "I need you, Scott. I can't not have this."

"You could get hurt," he muttered, and she saw the tension in every line of his body. He was fighting to keep control of himself, fighting perhaps to turn his attention back to the creature, which had scooped Lydia up and was carrying her up the stairs. But she knew that he was also fighting to keep from attacking her, from ripping the remainder of her clothes off and making violent love to her, probably while digging his claws and teeth into her skin and ripping her completely apart.

"I could," she acknowledged, stepping forward and unfastening her jeans. Scott, conveniently, was already naked. "Do you remember the first night we made love? On the last full moon?"

"Yes," Scott muttered, his face so rigid with tension that his lips barely moved.

"I felt your teeth on me," Allison said, shimmying out of her jeans. "I could feel your werewolf side. It wanted to bite me. And Scott?" she asked, stepping forward to press her body against his. "I would have let you. I wanted it. I wanted everything and I still do."

Scott shuddered, and she felt the last vestige of his control slip away. With a growl, he yanked at her remaining clothing, tearing them quickly from her body. He pressed his face to hers quickly in a violent, heavy kiss that sent shock waves of pleasure through both of their bodies. She felt down between their legs and found his erection, stroking at it as he kissed her. She felt Scott's pace quicken, mirroring her own, and a second later the kiss broke and she felt Scott twist her around to face away from him, and then he was pressing her forward so that she fell to the floor of the basement on all fours, and the unfinished cement underneath cut her palms and knees but she didn't care because Scott had followed her down and was pressing himself inside of her from behind.

As soon as he was inside Allison felt her entire body shudder, felt like she was unraveling from the tightly-wound ball of anxiety she'd formed into since this had stopped, felt like everything was okay and wonderful in the world. As Scott picked up pace – still not shifted, Allison noted in some far corner of her mind – she let the world around them recede and fell into the fullest pleasure she'd ever experienced.

***[]***

Scott thrust himself into Allison, feeling ecstatic and energized. She was moaning and calling his name and encouraging him to go faster, harder. He growled, wrapping his hands around her hips to slam her backward at the same time he was thrusting forward. With each thrust he felt himself getting closer. Allison had already had three, but each had built in intensity, and he could tell that her body was saving its fullest climax for when he could join her.

The rhythm became more ferocious and Scott felt felt his hands – his still-human, non-clawed hands – digging into the skin of Allison's hips, drawing blood. She was still urging him faster, harder, telling him how much she wanted it, how much she needed it, and the sensations were building beyond anything Scott had ever experienced and then he was there and he roared, the full-throat roar of an Alpha, and his eyes glowed red and he shifted into his full Beta form as he hit climax, feeling Allison in front of him achieving that same conclusion at the same time.

The two of them slumped forward as soon as it was over, exhausted, and fell asleep.

***[]***

Lydia's eyes struggled open. She was immediately aware of two things – she was still shifted into her Beta form, and she was not in the basement anymore. She struggled to bring her muddied mind out of the haze it had been filled with. _What the hell happened – Bealstock! Bealstock was in the basement!_

Lydia sprang to her feet, growling. _He knocked me out,_ she thought. _And must have brought me here. _So_ the wrong night to get on my bad side._ "Come out and fight!" she growled into the darkness.

"_This wolfy is pure_," Bealstock muttered, his sing-songy voice floating at Lydia from all directions at once. She swiped a clawed hand at the shadows. Trees. She was surrounded by trees. After a second it dawned on her – this was the spot where Bealstock had fought Scott. Where Bealstock had brutalized Scott. And the only reason he hadn't killed Scott was because Scott wasn't 'pure...'

Lydia felt the first thrill of fear.

"_Told the other wolfy that tonight there'd just be a snack_," Bealstock said. "_But this wolfy is so tiny, she is barely a snack at all. Bealstock is getting very hungry, and when Bealstock is hungry, Bealstock is impatient._"

She turned and swiped at the shadows again, but again there was nothing there. Lydia turned again, trying to get a sense of where the voice was coming from, and that's when Bealstock's massive fist collided with her jaw. Lydia flew backward, seeing stars, and collided with a tree. Luckily, it was young tree and was still pliable; rather than snapping, or halting her flight completely, it bent, providing a relative cushion to her fall. Lydia still felt the world spin around her, but she managed to leap back to her feet, and, snarling, leaped for Bealstock directly.

Except, when she landed, he wasn't there anymore. The tall creature had sidestepped her lunge, too fast for her to follow, and she'd landed in the dirt. "_Nice try, wolfy_," it said. "_This wolfy might even be smarter than the other wolfy. But this wolfy is still pure, and Bealstock doesn't waste pure. Not ever._"

Before she could do anything else, Bealstock kicked viciously into her midsection. Lydia felt her ribs shatter under the blow and again found herself flying through the air. This time she landed on her own without hitting a tree, but when she tried to push herself up, the pain from her midsection was too severe and she slumped forward, seeing red.

Bealstock was walking toward her, his booted feet cracking twigs underneath. Desperate, Lydia tried to crawl away, and managed to drag herself a couple of feet, despite the incredible pain in her ribs, before Bealstock caught up. He drove one of those boots down into Lydia's right knee, shattering the socket in one blow. Lydia screamed, her eyes swimming again. She tried to drag herself along further, but without being able to push herself with her legs, it was useless. She couldn't move.

A second later she was lifted violently and suddenly off the forest floor. The pain in her torso and leg were so severe she was sure she should have passed out, but instead she was still conscious, her mind straining to deal with the level of pain she was experiencing. Bealstock was holding her around the throat with one hand, like she was a doll. Lydia looked down at him, tasting her own blood and tears. "Why?" she managed to croak out.

Bealstock trailed its fingers down one of her arms. "_Everyone has to eat_," it said, and then it's hooded head flew to Lydia's right arm faster than she could track, and she felt millions of tiny, jagged teeth and a whole new level of pain.

***[]***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well that doesn't seem to have gone well, does it? Let me know what you think in the reviews. 'Till next time!


	17. Reevaluation

Author's Note: To the anonymous/guest reviewer who requested that I have another female character grow attracted to Scott, I find myself terribly curious what the source of this request is – a dislike for Allison? A desire for some more diversity in the story, or perhaps a desire for a little more adversity in their relationship? Seriously, let me know.

Might as well take this as an opportunity to thank everyone who's been following along and leaving such lovely feedback. It really makes the whole thing a lot easier to keep up with when I see what you guy are thinking and feeling in response to the story.

And now...story!

REEVALUTION

Dr. Deaton pulled his car into one of the parking spaces outside the animal clinic the morning after the full moon. He got out and walked over to the building, pulling his keys out, intent on calling the McCall house to find out how the night before went, when he realized that something was wrong. Inclining his head, he could hear a faint howl coming from the woods. His brow furrowed, Deaton left the clinic locked and walked around the side, toward the woods. He heard the howl again and picked up the pace, breaking into a run as he realized that he was heading toward the spot where Scott had fought Bealstock.

The sight that met him when he broke into the clearing was enough to turn his stomach. Lydia was laying on her side in a pool of her own blood, naked, twigs and grass and her own hair plastered to her body. She was still partially shifted – Deaton could still see claws on her left hand – and she was howling feebly. Cuts and bruises covered her body.

Deaton bent immediately and felt her pulse. It was weak, even for regular human standards. For a werewolf it was alarming. Further alarming was the realization that the arm he was checking her pulse on was broken, and not healing. "Bealstock," Deaton muttered. He refocused on Lydia, who was looking up at him, her eyes glowing blue weakly. "It's okay, Lydia," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "I've got you now. You're going to be fine."

Deaton breathed out, slowly. There was no way he could leave her here, but getting her back to the clinic was going to be difficult. The intense bruising around Lydia's midsection suggested that her ribs were broken, which would fit with the damage done to Scott in his own fight with Bealstock. Deaton swallowed, casting a look around the small clearing. No one else was in sight, but where did that mean Scott was?

Deaton bent again. "Lydia, can you hear me? Where is Scott? Is anyone else with you?"

For a moment Deaton thought that Lydia couldn't hear him, or that she was so far in shock that couldn't understand the words, but then he heard a single word, coughed through a mouthful of blood more than spoken. "No."

He nodded. _Okay,_ he thought. _Figure out what happened as soon as the patient is stable._ "Okay," he said, out loud. "Lydia, I'm going to have try and move you. We'll get you to the clinic, stabilize your wounds, and then get you an ambulance. Okay?" Lydia nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering shut from the exertion. Trying to be gentle, Deaton slowly rolled her over onto her back.

Which is when he discovered that her right arm was gone.

***[]***

Bridget woke the next morning on the bed. She felt a body next to her and resisted the urge to stretch, not wanting to knock one of her sisters out of bed. She felt different, this morning – her body had a happy sort of glow to it, a tingle that left every inch of her feeling good. It almost felt like she felt on full moons, when suddenly every little thing happening around her would have an impact on her hyperactive nerve endings, but this was pleasant, not the scraped-raw feeling that full moons usually brought.

As Bridget took stock of the feeling and tried to catalogue it, she became aware of something extremely strange – she was naked. Neither she nor her sisters – Nia especially – ever slept naked, although she'd thought of it a few times, in the back of her mind where ideas she felt she couldn't entertain were kept. The curiosity of the situation finally drove Bridget's eyes open and her calm, happy funk collapsed.

Lying next to her on the bed, equally naked, was Declan. Bridget's wings were both extended and he was actually lying on top of her right wing, curled over on his side. There was still sweat glistening on his body, and, Bridget realized, sweat glistening on her own body, and then slowly the memories of the night before began to come back and Bridget's heart sank.

"Declan?" she said, her voice a bare squeak. "Oh, God, don't be dead. Declan. Declan!"

"What's that?" Declan asked, his voice fuzzy. "Who wants what?"

"Oh God, you're alive," Bridget said, feeling the decade's worth of tension that had built up in her body at discovering Declan next to her drain instantly away. "Oh, God, Declan, I was so worried."

Declan opened his eyes slowly, looking straight into Bridget's still anxiety-laced eyes. He seemed a little out of it himself. "Wait a minute," he said, feeling himself up and down and then sweeping his gaze up and and down Bridget, who was so relieved that he was alive that she forgot to be embarrassed. "Did we - ?"

"Yeah," Bridget said, feeling her stomach fall again, although not as bad. "You can't remember?"

Declan nodded. "Oh, I remember," he said. "I remember about eight years' worth of happy. You mean that was all real?"

Bridget nodded. "Yeah," she said again.

Declan seemed to be struggling to put it all together in his head. "So we - " he started, but then stopped. "And you - " he stopped again. "I mean, you, you know, _finished_, like - "

"Seven times," she said, feeling color finally rise in her cheeks. _I can't believe this_, she thought. "You did two or three times yourself."

Declan nodded again, the bewildered expression on his face not abating. "And I'm not - "

"Dead," Bridget finished, this time cutting Declan –_ my lover!_ - off. "No, apparently you're not."

Declan smiled, one of his trademark slow smiles, although he still looked bewildered. "Apparently," he said. He looked again directly into Bridget's eyes and she felt the pleasant tingle in her skin return. "How'd this happen?"

Bridget shook her head. "I'm not sure," she said. "I slipped into my trance with Allison, Kate, Nia, and Sophie in the room. The next thing I remember was you showing up and then - "

"I remember that part," Declan said, color rising on his own face.

_Uh oh_. Bridget felt the shy awkwardness that came with an extremely conservative upbringing kick in. "Was it not good?" she asked.

Declan smiled the slow smile again, and this time the bewildered look was gone from his face. "You're misunderstanding me, darling," he said. The word 'darling' made Bridget's heart skip a beat. "It was good. It was better than good. It was every kind of wonderful I could have ever pictured and more than a few I couldn't have. But it still doesn't explain exactly what happened."

Bridget exhaled slowly. _I could die right now_, she thought. "I don't know," she said. "What's the last you remember?"

Declan's brow furrowed. "There was this green light," he said. "Came from up here. It swept through the room and suddenly it was like I knew, just _knew_ that everything would be fine and I should come up. And I did, and, well, you know the rest."

Bridget's own brow furrowed. "Green light..." she muttered. "I think I remember something about that. It's all so confused – the time when we slip into the trance is when we black out – but I think it came from Nia."

Declan nodded. "That tracks," he said. "When I got up here, she was saying something about how it was all her fault."

"She tried to stop us," Bridget said. "By that time there's no way I could have stopped. But I knew the whole time that I wasn't going to hurt you."

Declan's smile again made Bridget feel lighter than a feather. "I knew it too," he said. He scratched at the back of his head. "I think maybe we gotta sit down and rethink some of the things we 'know' about nymphs."

Bridget nodded. "That's for sure," she said. "And we should probably find Nia. She seemed really upset, and I can't say I blame her. She was convinced that I was going to try and kill you. She'll feel better if we can find her and explain that everything's okay." Bridget finished the sentence and went to roll off the bed, but found that she was held fast. She giggled and looked back at Declan. "Declan, you're on my wing."

Declan looked down and one of his eyebrows quirked. "So sorry, my dear," he said, rolling off the bed to stand beside it. The action, and the good posture he took standing beside the bed, gave Bridget an eyeful of his lean but strong frame. Declan's eyes were on the wing he'd been laying on. "Didn't hurt you, did I?"

Bridget shook her head, standing and shaking out her wings. "No," she said. "They don't feel pain, at least not that we've ever experienced. Then again, last night was a big night for new experiences, so I suppose I should not rule anything out, yes?"

She'd meant the statement to be light, and Declan did chuckle, but his face turned serious. "I think we've got some talking to do, too," he said.

Bridget nodded, brutally aware of their shared nudity and the feeling deep inside her that, despite the lingering exhaustion and euphoria of the night before, wanted to toss him down on the bed for another round. _I thought the first time was supposed to be awkward and painful?_ "Yeah," she said. "I suppose so."

Silence lingered between them for a moment. Declan scratched at the back of his head again, a sheepish look on his face. "You always hear people say you're supposed to talk after something like this," he said. "Then again, they're probably not talking about hookups that involve supernatural hijinks, but you'd think the same theory applies. I don't really have anything specific to say."

Bridget cast her eyes down. "Is that a bad thing?" she asked.

Declan shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "I mean, okay, here's what I have to say: I had a wonderful, amazing time last night, and I feel things for you – and, to be clear, felt things for you already before last night – that are big and a little scary and a lot amazing and I want to see where all that goes, but I don't think we have to have some big conversation about it, you know? I kind of just want to see where it goes."

Bridget found herself smiling. "Okay," she said. She looked down again, her face coloring again. "I really like you, Declan. I'm glad you were, you know, my first."

Declan smiled back, looking more vulnerable than Bridget had ever seen him. "I'm glad you were mine."

"Really?" Bridget asked, her eyes brightening.

"Really."

***[]***

Declan and Bridget both dressed – Bridget in fresh clothes, Declan back into the clothes he'd been wearing the night before, taking special care to reverse them so they weren't inside out, as that's how most of them had landed on the floor. He was particularly fascinated with watching Bridget retract her wings, which she did with her back to him, although she did look over her back to meet his gaze, a gesture which found incredibly alluring.

Once both of them were dressed – and Declan couldn't help but take note of how loosely Bridget wore her jeans and t-shirt, so that a little more skin was exposed than usual, which he was sure she caught him looking at and grinned – they turned their attention to the door to the room. "Did you do that?" Bridget asked, pointing to the splintered, wrecked door.

Declan shook his head. "Nope," he said. "It was like that when I got up here. Must have been Allison – Kate crawled out through it when I came in, and you and Nia and Sophie were all in here when I got here." Declan reached forward and fiddled with the remains of the door. The latch was broken, leaving the door permanently shut, but the door itself was more or less a gaping hole ringed with splintered wood. Declan straightened back up. "I'd kick it open the rest of the way, but the frame looks undamaged and I'd hate to make more work for us later when we clean all this up," he said. "I managed to fit through this. Think you can make it?"

Bridget nodded. Declan stepped through carefully and then offered his hand to Bridget. She shook her head. "I don't need help," she said.

Declan grinned. "It's not necessarily all about helping you through," he said. Grinning back, Bridget took his hand and stepped through the hole. Once on the other side, she didn't let go, which Declan enjoyed – her smooth, delicate skin was sending waves of warm contentment through his whole body. _If this is what every morning after is like, sign me up_, he thought. _Guess I can tell why Allison and Scott've been so on edge lately. I'd hate to lose this._

Declan turned to head down the stairs, still holding Bridget's hand, and he nearly tripped over Kate Argent. Getting over being momentarily startled, Declan knelt down next to her. "Asleep," he said. "Her makeup's all run all over face. I'd say she spent most of the night crying."

He straightened back up to see a concerned look on Bridget's face. "What the hell happened last night?" she asked.

Declan glanced back at Kate Argent. "We should find Nia," he said.

The two of them proceeded downstairs. Declan and Bridget both felt like turning into the living room, but they heard movement in the kitchen. The two turned and entered the kitchen instead, cautiously. _Obviously last night didn't go to plan_, Declan thought. _No hurt in exercising a little caution_.

The kitchen's occupant turned out to be Sophie, who'd wrapped herself in Gunther's long, heavy coat. On seeing Declan, she readjusted it so that it covered herself more fully. Bridget strode quickly into the kitchen. "Sophie!" she said. "You're okay!"

Sophie nodded, her eyes focused on Declan and Bridget's linked hands. _Uh oh_, Declan thought, but didn't let go. _First impression's already ruined. No need to make Bridget self-conscious now too._ "Yeah," she said. "Dad, Curtis, Stiles, and the other hunters are in the other room. Scott and Allison are downstairs. She's a little cut up – and they're both naked – but they don't look seriously hurt."

Declan's face took on a worried look. "Where's Lydia?" he asked.

Sophie shrugged. "Door was open when I woke up," she said. "No sign of her. I looked all around but she's not here in the house."

Declan felt his face fall. "So she got out," he said. "Damn it. I hope she didn't hurt anyone. This is going to complicate things."

"Tell me about it," Sophie muttered.

Bridget's brow had furrowed all over again. "Soph, what's the matter?" she asked. "What happened to you last night?"

Sophie shook her head. "Not too sure," she said, a little too fast. "It was just a long night. You know what full moons are like."

Bridget seemed to be struggling to suppress a grin as she stole a glance at Declan, whose face heated up. _Real subtle, Bridget,_ he thought. "Yeah," she said, still looking more at Declan than at Sophie.

This interaction was not lost on the smaller, mousier sister. She scowled. "And, you know, after a long night I'd really like to put on some decent clothes," she said. She looked pointedly at her sister. "I'm assuming our room isn't in _use_ anymore?"

Bridget blushed. "Look, Sophie - " she started, but Sophie cut her off.

"I don't want to hear it," she said.

"But it's _safe_, Soph – look, Declan's fine, totally not dead - "

"I said I don't want to hear it," Sophie said. _She sounds tired more than anything else_, Declan thought. "I just want to throw on some clothes and figure out what happened last night. Okay?"

"Okay," Bridget said, and stepped aside so that Sophie could exit the kitchen and climb the stairs. As soon as she was gone, Bridget walked over to the table and picked up the mug Sophie had been sipping from. She sniffed at it and then turned to Declan. "Hot chocolate," she said. "Sophie's comfort food. Whenever she's upset she makes a mug and then sits and sips at it for so long it's cold by the time she's done."

"Meaning something happened to her last night," Declan finished.

Bridget shook her head. "Yeah," she said. "But Sophie's stubborn about these kinds of things. So long as everyone's alive we can sort it out later."

The two of them left the kitchen and entered the living room. True to what Sophie had said, everyone there was passed out. Only Chris Argent had managed to land on something other than the floor; his other hunters, Gunther, Curtis, and Stiles were all arrayed around the room, on the floor. Nia was pressed against a far wall, also asleep.

"Guess we wake them up," Bridget said, and she and Declan set about the task of rousing the sleeping crowd. None of them were particularly happy with being woken, as none of them had fallen asleep in comfortable positions – Gunther had a crink in his neck, one of the hunters had drooled on himself, and Stiles spent nearly a full minute rearranging his clothes.

They woke Nia last – on closer inspection, they'd determined that she, too, had been crying freely. When Bridget bent down and shook her shoulder gently, at first she didn't move at all, and Declan, concerned, rechecked her to make sure she was breathing. A second nudge later, Nia started awake, her eyes flying open, much wider than they typically were. "What happened?" she asked.

"We were kind of hoping you could tell us," Bridget replied.

Nia looked up, seeing the waiting, expectant faces. "I lost control," she said, simply, sounding a little more like her old self.

"Of what, honey?" Gunther asked, bending down next to Bridget to provide Nia with a more comforting presence to focus on.

Nia shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "It wasn't like anything I'd ever felt before. Bealstock showed up, and then I lost control of whatever that green light was, and then - "

"Bealstock was here?" Chris asked, sharply.

Nia nodded. "Yeah," she said. "Down in the basement." She looked around and her eyes widened. "Wait, where is everyone? Where's Sophie?"  
Bridget reached out again and clutched Nia's shoulder though her shirt. "It's okay," she said. "Sophie's upstairs. So's Kate. Allison and Scott are downstairs."

"Where's Lydia?" Nia asked, her eyes round as pie plates.

Bridget sighed. "We don't know," she said. "Not here."

Nia shut her eyes and inclined her head back against the wall. "I could feel him when he showed up," she said. "I could feel him, I don't know, _push_ me. Whatever that was, it came from me, he just made me use it. I don't even know what it was."

"Wait, what is Allison doing in the basement?" Chris asked.

Declan and Bridget turned slowly to face him. When he saw the conflicted, guilty looks on their faces, his own drained of color, and he turned and began to stride toward the stairs. Declan felt his own face lose color and took off after him. "Mr. Argent!" he said, trying to catch him, but Chris got to the door, through it, and slammed it in Declan's face. Declan yanked it back open again, but Chris had gained a crucial couple of seconds and was already at the bottom of the stairs by the time Declan reached him.

The sight that met his eyes wasn't unexpected. Scott and Allison were both stretched out on the floor of the basement, completely naked, on their stomachs. The first detail Declan took in was the look of utter contentment on Allison's face. Then his eyes inevitably strayed lower over Allison's body and he saw the marks – ten deep cuts spaced relatively evenly, around her hips and waist. _Finger-marks_, Declan thought, and scanning Scott's hands he could see little tinges of red around the nails. There was dried blood on Allison's skin and on the floor as well.

These details were clearly not lost on Mr. Argent. At the clamor of his and Declan's arrival, both Scott and Allison had begun to stir. She had time to look up and mutter, "Daddy?" before Chris had his gun out and was pulling the trigger, the barrel aimed squarely at Scott's head.

...or it would have been, had Declan not punched at him at that very instant, sending the shot wide. The gunshot brought both Scott and Allison back to full consciousness. Allison recoiled, groping around for something – probably her bow, or perhaps her clothes, or maybe even both, Declan wouldn't have been sure betting on any of the available options – while Scott spring to his feet, his fangs and claws elongating, his eyes glowing red. _No shooting pain this time_, Declan observed. _Guess we'll see now if that's a good thing or a bad thing_.

Chris was looking furiously at Declan. "Why the hell did you do that?" he asked.

"You were going to kill Scott," Declan said. "Can't say I see that as a good thing."

Chris growled, sounding impressively like a werewolf himself. "You did see what he did to her, didn't you?" he asked, spitting the question at Declan.

"Mostly, I saw that she's fine," Declan said, nodding over at Allison, who'd gathered some of her discarded clothes to her and was trying to reapply them without uncovering herself with her hands.

Scott growled as well and both hunters were forced to turn their attention to him. "You just took a shot with Allison in the room," he said, his words slurred through his elongated teeth. "You that arrogant that you figured there was no way you could hit her?"

"You're going to die!" Chris shouted.

Scott nodded, settling back on the balls of his feet. "You're so angry, so ready to kill me because you're angry, that you're taking stupid chances," he spit back at Chris. "That sounds like exactly the kind of behavior you're supposed to be sworn to stop." Scott seemed to force himself to relax, letting himself transform back into his fully human form. "You're going to need to learn to live with this," he said, bending over to pick up his pants, starting to slip back into them. "I had kind of a realization last night – once I let myself – that I'm never going to hurt her. Not really. We've been spending what's felt like an eternity in paranoia and what for? To make you feel better about whatever idiotic old hunter fear you're nursing? I don't think so." His pants secure, he offered a hand down to Allison, who'd managed to replace all of her clothes. A quizzical look on her face, she accepted his hand and stood, next to him. "So, Mr. Argent, you have a choice. You can accept this, tough as it may be for you to stomach, and trust that your daughter knows what she's doing and give her your blessing, because this is what makes her _happy_ and that's supposed to be what you want for her, or you can get out of my house."

Chris, unfortunately, bristled at the last statement. "You try to kick me out of this house and I'll end you," he said, cocking the hammer on his gun again.

Declan felt himself tense, but Scott still seemed completely relaxed. "You'll try," he said. "You'll fail, and I won't kill you – this time – because you're Allison's father, and I realize maybe it's hard to accept it when your kid's grown up and ready to make her own decisions. But what's all that going to do for you?"

Chris faltered and let the hammer slide off again. He looked away, and when he spoke, the angry tone was gone from his voice. "I never wanted all this for you," he said.

Allison grasped Scott's hand tighter. "But it's what I want," she said. "It's what I need. Do you understand that?"

Chris shook his head. "No," he said, and Declan felt himself tense again. Chris looked up at Scott and Allison. "But I'll try."

Declan breathed out a sigh of relief and, when he realized that all three other occupants of the basement could hear it and were now looking at him, he blushed. "Sorry," he said. "Guess I kind of horned in on private family conversation. Sorry."

Chris scowled at him, but the scowl was lacking the menace of only a few moments previous, and he turned to climb the stairs. Scott, grabbing his shirt, went to follow him, giving Declan a nod and a smile on the way. Allison stopped in front of him and smiled too. "You don't need to apologize," she said. "You just saved Scott's life. From now on, you _are_ family."

She passed him to ascend the stairs. Smiling himself, Declan turned and climbed the stairs, too.

***[]***

When the four reached the top of the stairs, they found Bridget holding the house's landline, a worried look on her face. Apparently forgetting momentarily that she was on a phone she nodded, but then also spoke. "Yes, doctor," she said, and Scott felt himself pale. He scanned the crowd assembled in the living room and quickly deduced that only Lydia was missing. He felt his blood turn to anti-freeze.

Bridget hung up. Declan, also looking concerned, stepped to her side. "What was that about?"

She gave him a look filled with horror. "That was Dr. Deaton, Scott's boss," she said. She turned her focus back to Scott. "He found Lydia this morning near the clinic, in the woods where you fought Bealstock."

Scott gulped, spared a glance at Stiles, who also looked like a deer in the headlights. "Is she alive?" he asked.

Bridget nodded and Scott felt himself relax a little. "She's alive," Bridget confirmed, looking like she didn't want to finish the sentence.

Despite his relief at hearing that Lydia was alive, the hesitation on the nymph's face was enough to set warning bells off in Scott's mind. "What else is there?" he asked.

Bridget started to cry. "She lost an arm," she said. "He found her missing her right arm."

There was a second of silence as these words sank in. Scott felt like he was in the middle of a blizzard – his whole body was cold and there was a furious buzzing in his ears. _While I was down there, with Allison, having sex, Lydia was out there having her arm eaten off_, Scott thought, and the thought was almost enough to push his mind over the edge. Just in the nick of time, he felt his resolve harden. _Have to see her. Have to help. Have to end this thing with Bealstock._

He looked up. "We have to get to the hospital," he said. "I'm going to run, I can get there faster that way. Whoever's coming, I'll see you there."

He gave Allison a quick kiss, and she darted upstairs, presumably to retrieve her motorcycle helmet. Not waiting to see who else would accompany him to the hospital, Scott stepped outside, shifted into his Beta form, and began running, picking up speed as he did so.

He reached the hospital only a few minutes later. He bypassed the desk completely – he could distinguish Lydia's heartbeat easily, although – and this pained him – he could tell that it was weaker than it was supposed to be. He found Deaton standing outside her room. He turned when he heard Scott approaching. "Scott!" he said. "Thank goodness you're okay. I called your house as soon as I had Lydia stable. Is everyone else okay?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah," he said. "It only took Lydia. How is she?"

Deaton glanced at the door and drew Scott away. "I wouldn't have brought her here if there'd been a choice," he said. "These doctors don't know how to handle werewolves. Whatever that thing did to her, though, I think it inhibited her healing ability, so right now she might as well be a regular human. And she needed more care than I could provide at the clinic."

Scott shook his head, looking at the room Lydia was in. The door was closed and there wasn't a window he could look through, but he could hear two heartbeats in the room in addition to Lydia's. "That doesn't answer my question," he said.

Deaton looked grim. "Every one of her ribs was shattered," he said. "The knee socket of her right knee shattered as well, possibly beyond repair. She has a level two concussion and has major abrasions and bruising over a third of her body. And," he said, swallowing, "her right arm has been amputated at the shoulder. The shoulder joint is empty. Her arm is just plain gone."

Scott breathed out, resisted the urge to collapse. "Can I see her?" he asked.

Deaton shook his head. "This is surgery, Scott," he said. "You're lucky they haven't kicked you out yet. I was only allowed this far in because I'm a doctor, although I imagine that if I start touting my credentials as a veterinarian they'll kick me out, too. The short answer? No, you can't see her. It'll be family first later, and then you'll be allowed in. Probably not until tomorrow."

Scott's fist was clenched and he felt his claws sharpen, just enough to pierce the skin and start his palms bleeding. "I want to see her," he said. "I can – I don't know, I can help."

Deaton shook his head. "There's nothing either of us can do for Lydia right now," he said. "Except wait. Maybe while we're waiting you can fill me in on what happened last night."

Scott allowed himself one more moment of angry frustration, staring at the door behind which Lydia was laying in pain and fear, and then he nodded. His claws retracted. "Okay," he said.

The two of them sat down and, in hushed tones, Scott began relaying the events of the night previous, as well as he understood them. As he was telling the story, Gunther, Allison, Bridget, Sophie and Stiles all arrived, and between all of them they manged to reconstruct a relatively full version of the night before.

When they were finished, Deaton's eyebrows were raised. "Gunther," he said. "I think I know what Bealstock is."

Gunther leaned forward. "Well, share with the class, why don't you," he said.

Deaton closed his eyes. "He's an arez-grou."

Allison and Gunther exchanged a look of concentration and mild confusion. "We ruled the arez-grou out near the beginning," Gunther said. "They're extinct, and anyway he don't fit all the criteria."

Deaton shook his eyes. "I think he's different from the others," he said, opening his eyes, which were sharp as razor blades. "Made wrong."

"Excuse me?" Scott said. "Mind throwing the rest of us a clue here?"

"I'm sorry, Scott," Deaton said, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard. Aside from a nurse several doors down, there wasn't anyone in sight. Scott allowed his senses to examine the surrounding area – definitely no one close enough to overhear them. He nodded to Deaton, and Deaton continued. "The arez-grou were...well, for lack of a better term, they were weapons. Created by hunters during the middle ages."

"Damn bad idea," Gunther muttered.

"Keep explaining," Scott said, his attention focused on Deaton.

"They were men, once," he said. "The process for creating them was lost long ago. They were made to be faster and stronger than the creatures they would hunt and feed on their flesh – it made them stronger, you see, and gave them an extra motivation to hunt the things the hunters wanted dead. Above all else, the arez-grou were immune to the abilities of the creatures they hunted – they couldn't be seduced by nymphs or turned by werewolves, and so on and so forth. It's written that, for a time, hunters rejoiced, believing the arez-grou to finally be the solution to supernatural menace."

"But?" Scott asked.

"But, the arez-grou became too much of a liability," Deaton continued. "While they were hunting werewolves, they were slaughtering innocents that got in the way to an appalling extent. The hunters turned on their creations and hunted them to extinction, and that was that. Except..."

"Except one survived," Scott finished. "Bealstock."

Gunther was shaking his head. "It don't all fit," he said. "This Bealstock character only feeds on things what haven't killed. That's not part of the arez-grou's profile. There's plenty of things out there feed on werewolf flesh that _haven't_ been extinct for centuries."

Scott shot him a sideways look. "There are?" he asked.

Gunther grinned a nasty grin. "You ever wonder where the expression 'dog eat dog world' came from, kid? No? Bet you do now."

"I know that Bealstock doesn't fit the mold exactly," Deaton said. "But that's what makes it work. What if he came out...wrong, somehow? What happened with Nia's powers last night, it sounds like Bealstock activated them himself. And it could very easily be what he did to Scott the other night at the clinic, too, when he couldn't change back to his human form during the fight."

"What are you saying?" Gunther asked, no longer grinning.

"What if Bealstock was made, I don't know, backwards?" Deaton asked. "Instead of being impervious to a werewolf's powers, he has control to activate them? And instead of hunting vicious supernatural creatures, he hunts docile ones?"

"That would explain how he survived," Allison threw in. The rest turned to face her. "The hunters who tracked and wiped out the arez-grou followed reports of incidents in which killer werewolf outbreaks stopped suddenly to find their targets. If Bealstock wasn't hunting killer werewolves, it'd have been easy for him to slip through the cracks."

"That ain't the most damning piece of evidence," Gunther said. "This has been bugging me ever since that night he fought you, Scott. What he called you – 'acolyte.' In the old days – Bealstock's days, if we're right – hunting wasn't a family thing yet. Hunters took apprentices, who they toughened up and turned into hunters through brutal discipline and harsh training. And they called those apprentices 'acolytes.'"

The word 'acolytes' seemed to echo among them, like a sentence had been passed. _Finally, a break_, Scott thought. Then his brow furrowed. "Wait a minute, you mean Bealstock is like, what, five hundred years old?"

Allison laid a hand on Scott's shoulder, grimacing. "More like eight hundred years old, probably," she said.

Scott quickly grasped her hand, squeezing it slightly before letting go. "So how is that possible?"

"When arez-grou fed, it made them stronger," Gunther said. "Can't say for sure, but if he's been feeding continuously this whole time, not only would it keep him from getting old, it'd keep him getting stronger."

Scott felt his stomach drop. "And he started out faster and stronger than a werewolf," he said. "Great."

He felt Allison squeeze his shoulder. "At least we know what he is, now," she said. "That's a step in the right direction, right?"

Scott felt the sarcastic retort escape his lips before he could suppress it. "I'm sure Lydia will be thrilled." He felt Allison's hand withdraw, turned and saw the hurt look on her face. "Sorry," he muttered. "I just wish they'd let me – us – see her."

"I don't think that's going to be a possibility," Deaton said, nodding down the hall. The group turned to see a pair of people approaching at a fast walk. Scott groaned inwardly. _Lydia's parents_.

"Where is she?" Mrs. Martin asked, her voice a hysterical squeak.

"Right in here," Deaton said, stepping up to the pair of harassed-looking parents, his voice taking on a calm, reassuring tone. "She's in surgery right now, so you won't be able to go in just yet. Just let the doctors work. They'll take care of her."

Mrs. Martin let out a sob. Mr. Martin looked completely dazed. "What happened?" he asked. "And who are you?"

"My name is Dr. Deaton," Deaton said, extending a hand. "I run the veterinary clinic. I'm the one who found Lydia."

"By the animal clinic?" Mrs. Martin asked. "That doesn't make any sense. Why, Allison, I though she was spending the night with you. What happened?"

Allison blanched, apparently completely unaware that Lydia had used her as her cover story. _I guess "I'm spending the night locked naked in a basement with a boy" probably wouldn't have gone over too good,_ Scott reflected. _Still, we should all get our stories straight next time._ Allison stuttered once, apparently failing to come up with something, so Deaton jumped in to help her. "The kids went for a walk in the woods," he said. "That's what Allison here was telling me earlier, right? And you got separated?"

Allison nodded, lamely. "Yeah," she said. "Separated."

_God, I hope the emotional trauma's enough to keep them from catching Allison's shitty acting_.

"As for what happened, I suppose we won't know until Lydia wakes up," Deaton said. "But, given my expertise and the cursory examination I performed when I found her, I'd say there's a strong possibility that this was an animal attack."

"_Another_ animal attack?" Mrs. Martin asked, looking about ready to faint. Scott studied her lined face briefly. _She's what Lydia will look like in thirty years, _he thought. _If she drowns her stress in cappuccino every day between now and then_. "Don't you think that's a little unlikely?"

Deaton nodded. "Yes, I'll admit the odds are a little stretched," he said. "But the circumstances do fit. There will time to figure out what happened once Lydia is awake. For now, would you like to come sit down? I'm sure you're very tired."

Mr. Martin shook his head, but allowed Deaton to lead him and his wife toward a pair of seats down the hall. "I don't think I'll ever sleep again."

***[]***

In the end, Mr. and Mrs. Martin had left when Stiles' father showed up, the three of them disappearing into one of the staff break rooms. _Great, another investigation_, Stiles thought. Despite his best attempt not to, he spared a glance at Allison. _The last thing I need is Dad running around the woods right now with an ancient hunter play-toy gone wrong running around_.

When the three emerged later, the Martins both looked even more exhausted and burned out, and Stiles' father looked grim. Stiles pushed off from the wall he was leaning against and drifted over to his father. "What's up?" Stiles asked.

Sheriff Stilinski glanced around to make sure there wasn't anyone close enough to hear him divulging police business to his teenage son. "The Martins are requesting that the FBI be brought in," he said.

"What?" Stiles asked, louder than he'd intended, the word echoing down the hallway. A few heads turned and he shot them an annoyed look. "What do you mean, the FBI?"

The sheriff rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "They think their daughter wasn't attacked by an animal," he replied. "Either time. They think this is the work of some psycho, and they want the FBI's behavior analysis unit to get involved."

Stiles shook his head, attempting to absorb this new obstacle, but so much had happened in the preceding twenty-four hours that he found his brain incapable of handling the additional input. _I'm going to wind up blue screening my brain if this keeps up_, he thought. "They can't do that, can they?" he asked. "Call in the FBI themselves?"

"No," the sheriff said. "I have to be the one to do it. Which I'll be doing as soon as I get back to the station."

"What?" Stiles asked, again, although he managed to keep his voice under control this time. He pretended to affect a laugh. "Come on, Dad, a serial killer in Beacon Hills? That's ridiculous."

"After what happened to the Hales years ago? And what happened to that girl we found half of in the woods a year ago? And Scott's mother? Stiles, you have to admit, there's something of a pattern here."

Stiles felt his brain racing. _This can't happen_, he thought. _There's no way we can juggle all of this and the FBI_. "Come on, Dad," he said, again, only this time he could hear a note of pleading in his own voice. "There's no way there's some serial killer out there. That's ridiculous."

The sheriff caught the note of the pleading too and backed up a step, giving Stiles a skeptical – and alarmed – look. _Oh, no_. "You're awfully adamant about that," he observed. "Stiles, do you know something?"

"Something?" Stiles asked. _I can't tell at all if I sound convincing or not. That can't be a good sign_. "What would I know?"

"I don't know," the sheriff said, beginning to sound on edge. "I wouldn't know, because it's something you know, not me. What is it? What do you know that you don't want to say?"

"What? Nothing! Geez," Stiles said. His father clearly wasn't buying it. _Gotta lay it on a little thicker_, he thought. _Oh my God I hate this so much_. He gestured back toward the door, behind which Lydia, now out of surgery, was resting. "You think with _that_ happening to _her_ that I'd keep something from you? Something important to her case? Her of all people? If I thought for a second that I knew something that'd help you to bring in the thing that did that I'd tell you."

The sheriff still looked skeptical for a moment, but then he nodded, slowly. "Okay," he said. He glanced around again. "I have to go put that call in. I'm betting you're staying, right?"

Stiles nodded, and his father patted him on the shoulder and headed for the elevator. Stiles turned as well, noticing that Scott had been watching intently. Stiles drifted over to his friend again, leaning again against the wall. "I guess you heard that," he said.

Scott nodded. "Yup," he said. "FBI. Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse."

Stiles felt like his head was spinning. "Maybe it's not worse," he said. "Maybe we should just tell them everything."

Scott craned his neck to look at Stiles. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Stiles fought down the rising hysteria. "Just tell the FBI guys everything," he said. "You can transform to demonstrate, so they won't think you're nuts. Maybe they can help. From everything everyone was saying earlier, we're completely out of our depth fighting this thing as-is. We could use some reinforcements, you know?"

Scott shook his head, shifting his posture against the wall. "We've had this conversation before, Stiles," he said. "There's no way we can trust the government. Even if we don't wind up getting dissected at some secret military base in Nevada or something, I'm sure there are plenty of other werewolves out there who wouldn't appreciate us revealing everything to to the world. We don't need that kind of attention right now."

Stiles felt his fists clenching. A wild part of him briefly wished he'd let Peter Hale bite him; while he didn't know exactly what being a werewolf was like, the ability to release all that pent up anger and frustration seemed like nothing but positive to Stiles at the moment. "Damn it, Scott," he hissed. "We need to do _something._"

Scott nodded. "I was right where you are now about three hours ago," he said, shaking his head, his voice calm. "Nothing we can do right now. Except wait our turn to see her."

Stiles felt the angry frustration drain._ I'm so tired of this_, he thought. "I just want to make everything okay," he muttered.

Scott was giving him an exceptionally strange look. "Yeah," he said. "I figure you do."

Stiles' brow furrowed at Scott's look, but he shook it off. A few minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Martin emerged from Lydia's hospital room and informed the waiting teens that Lydia had asked to see them. Stiles glanced around – Allison, Bridget, and Sophie were all that remained beside Scott and himself, Gunther having gone back to the house to start repairs and discuss the big revelation with Curtis and the Argents and Deaton having gone back to the clinic. Trying not to run like a child, Stiles pushed off the wall again and the five of them walked into Lydia's room.

Stiles' first glimpse of her almost made him gasp. Stiles had always been the type to try and find the humor in most situations, especially bad ones. But at that moment, not a single thing in the world could possibly have been funny to him. Lydia, her strawberry blonde hair matted and frayed looking, was laying flat, the hospital bed bent slightly to give the allusion that she was sitting up slightly. Her eyes looked sunken into her head. Small bandages dotted every inch of skin Stiles could see.

And where her right arm was supposed to be there simply wasn't anything. A bandage was wrapped in a slight bulge around her shoulder, but nothing protruded from the shoulder.

"Hi," she said, a little weakly, and Stiles felt his heart break.

He slid down into the chair beside her and, gently as possible, laced his fingers in with the fingers of her remaining hand. "Hi," he said.

The rest of the teens filled into the room, Scott taking a position on the other side of Lydia's bed, the three girls hanging back near the far wall. Lydia glanced around at their solemn faces, her own looking weak and slightly airy. "What, no one's going to ask how I am?"

Scott and Allison exchanged a glance. "Uh," Scott said. "I guess we didn't think to. How do you feel?"

"How do I feel?" Lydia repeated. "_How_ do I feel. You ever wonder where that question came from? Like, you're asking a person, "how is that you experience tactile contact," like you need instruction as to how it works. You know how most people feel? They feel with their hands."

Scott cast his eyes down. "I'm sorry," he said. When he looked up again there were tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Lydia. This is all my fault."

Lydia shook her head. "Nah," she said. "It's not your fault. First off, the doctors said I'm on the _ best_ drugs, so it's not like anything hurts. And second off, it's not like you're the one who, you know, _ate my arm off_." She giggled, her eyes getting wide. "Every little bit, chomp chomp chomp."

"God, I hope that's the drugs talking," Allison muttered.

"Still have werewolf hearing, super bitch," Lydia muttered back, inclining her head to look at Allison. "Not all of my senses are working right – smell's a little funny right now, you all smell like cake – but I can still hear real good."

"Sorry," Allison murmured, not meeting Lydia's unbalanced gaze.

"It's okay," she said, settling back to look at the ceiling. "I forgive you. I forgive you for everything, Allison. You spend a lot of time reflecting when you're sitting in the woods bleeding out slowly. I thought a little bit about you. I mean, so you betrayed us, threatened Stiles' father, and shot Scott with an arrow meant to kill me. Bygones are bygones. What are friends for?"

Allison looked up, helplessly met Scott's gaze, but Scott's face was, oddly, blank. "Thanks, Lydia," she stuttered. "That, uh, means a lot to me. Really."

Lydia smiled, her eyes still closed. The smile was much to wide for her face and seemed to distort it. "You're not convincing at all," she said, giggling slightly again. "But that's okay. I suppose I'm not very convincing right now either. But it's all okay. Everything's going to be okay. I have a plan."

"What?" Scott asked, leaning forward. "A plan? You mean you thought of something from fighting Bealstock?"

"Yeah," Lydia said, nodding and opening her eyes, turning her head slightly to face Scott. "Yeah, from that. Here it is. He won't eat you because you've killed, right? So all I have to do is go out and kill someone and then he won't want me, either. Or, you know, the rest of me. I wonder if it'll make him throw up what he already ate. Probably give him indigestion, at least."

"Whoa, back up there," Allison said, stepping forward. "You're talking about committing murder."

Lydia swung her gaze around to face Allison. Even through the drug-induced haze and the mild hysteria of her injury, Stiles still recognized a little of Lydia's sharpness. "No, I'm talking about not getting eaten alive, _again_," she said. She coughed, and gently Stiles squeezed her hand, hoping the extra pressure would give her strength. "It's pretty simple. Bealstock wants to eat me. Bealstock can swoop in and eat me whenever he wants, wherever he wants, because he's faster than anything ever and stronger than anything ever and that's all he wants in the world. Bealstock won't want to eat me if I kill someone. So, I'm killing someone. Like I said, simple."

"Lydia," Allison started, clearly trying to sound gentle and, to Stiles at least, failing miserably. "Let's not get extreme here. We've figured a few things out about Bealstock while you were in surgery. We're making progress. There's no need to go over the deep end."

"It's not over the deep end," Lydia replied, her voice turning airy again. "It's logical. You want to fight Bealstock, be my guest, he'll tear you apart without noticing he's done it. Me, I'm getting out of his way."

Allison glanced at Scott and Stiles for support and, finding none being offered, continued by herself. "Lydia, remember the treaty between you and my Dad," she started, but Lydia cut her off.

"The treaty," she said. "Of course, the treaty. Want to hear something silly, Allison? Your Dad scares me a whole lot less than the guy who _chewed off my arm last night_."

"What about all that 'we're not killers' stuff?" Allison asked, folding her arms in front of her.

"We're not," Scott broke in, quietly, interrupting whatever Lydia was about to say. "We're not murderers. But we are survivors. Lydia has a point."

"What?" Allison asked, looking at Scott like he was crazy.

"You heard me," he said, still quiet. "I have a get out of jail free card on account of killing Peter. I've already killed, so all that stuff about 'we're not killers' was kind of bunk, anyway. When not killing was just about, you know, _not killing_, it was all well and good, because none of us wants to take a life. But you're willing to do it when you feel you have to, and we should be willing to, too."

Allison was shaking her head. "I can't believe what I'm hearing," she said. "This is nuts, Scott. You're not seriously going to let her do this, are you?"

Scott turned to face his girlfriend. "Would you mind stepping outside with me?" he asked, again quietly. "I think we should have this conversation in private."

Without a word, Allison turned and stormed out of the room, not quite pushing aside Bridget and Sophie, who stepped back, further into the room, to avoid getting bowled over. With a whispered goodbye to Lydia that Stiles couldn't make out completely but was probably loud as a bullhorn to Lydia's enhanced senses, Scott swept out of the room after Allison, leaving Lydia, Sophie, Bridget, and Stiles.

Lydia looked around at all of them. "At least if I can break them up, something good will have come of this," she said.

Stiles smiled down at her. "So much for being supportive, huh?"

She looked up at him, the weariness taking over her face. "I don't feel much like supporting anyone right now," she said.

Stiles tried to grin. "I think maybe, just this once, you've got good reason to be a little selfish. We'll let it slide."

Lydia sat slightly, wincing with pain, to face all of them more directly. "Seriously, why do you guys smell like cake?" she asked. "Are my senses going nuts or is that real?"

Stiles sniffed at the air. "I don't smell anything," he said. "Then again, there was that one time that Scott told me that he could tell who'd sat in Allison's chair after she did in Geometry last year by who got little bits of her perfume on them, so I'm guessing your senses are a little stronger than mine."

"It might have something to do with whatever Nia did to us last night," Bridget said. Sophie, beside her, paled.

"Nia did something to you guys?" Lydia asked. "Like what?"

"We're not sure," Bridget replied. "Nia's a different kind of nymph from us. Truth be told we don't really know much about her powers. Evidently we don't much about our _own_ powers, but we know even less about hers. She drove everyone a little nuts. We lost control."

"Is everyone else okay?" Lydia asked. She laughed, harshly, to herself. "Of course, I only get around to asking that now."  
"Yeah, everyone else is fine," Bridget said, quickly. She blushed. "Uh, Declan's okay. You know, he's, uh, _okay_."

Lydia smiled slightly. "Yeah, we get it, Bridget," she said. She turned her attention to Sophie. "How about you? You make anyone _okay_ last night?"

Sophie shook her head violently, refusing to meet Lydia's eyes. "No," she said.

Lydia frowned. "Your heart just sped up," she said. "Remember, ears working fine. You don't have to be ashamed, Sophie. There's no need to be ashamed of sex for sex's sake – so nineteenth century – and so long as everyone's okay, well, you couldn't have killed anyone. So no problem. It's like you had a little too much to drink at a party and, you know, slipped into something."

"It wasn't like a party," Sophie muttered. "I had no control, no way to stop_. _It was like being raped."

Stiles, involuntarily, felt his head jerk around. He'd managed to avoid looking at Sophie the entire time they'd been in the same room together until that moment. "It wasn't like being raped," he said, meeting her eyes, which were full of anger and confusion and, at the back, just the slightest bit of vulnerability.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Stiles became painfully aware of Lydia's grip on his hand. It hadn't tightened or shifted or anything but suddenly it felt like too much, like the contact of her skin on his was a firestorm across frayed nerve endings, and he had to resist the urge to yank his hand back. Turning slowly back to her, he found Lydia's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" she asked, slowly.

"I just mean, it's not like rape," Stiles said, and for the second time that day he heard a note of pleading in his voice. "I don't mean anything by it, I just don't think that's a good way of looking at it."

"Stiles, what happened last night."

"Nothing."

"You're lying," Lydia said, her face contorting in pain. "Oh my God, you slept with her."

Bridget was looking between Sophie and Stiles, a surprised – perhaps even mildly shocked – look on her face. Sophie, seeing the pain taking hold of Lydia's own face, shored up her courage and began speaking again. "He didn't have a choice," she said. "I used my pheromones on him. On purpose. He wouldn't have been able to tell you his own name if I'd told him to forget it."

Lydia, if anything, looked even more horrified. "So it was rape, then," she said. "You raped him."

"Now, wait a minute here - " Stiles began.

"I didn't mean to," Sophie said, her eyes welling full of tears. "God, I never wanted any of this. I just wanted to stay locked away in my room and _never ever_ have to deal with this."

"I let you be my friend," Lydia was saying, sounding a million miles away. "And then you go and do this."

"She didn't have any control!" Stiles said, angrily. "Bealstock did something to Nia, and Nia did something to all of us, and she lost control and then it was just kind of _happening_, and it wasn't like rape, not at all. We were all screwed up on something last night – you know Scott was actually fucking Allison while Bealstock dragged you away, right in front of them? No one was themselves, but _there was no rape_."

"So if she didn't _rape_ you then I suppose you _wanted_ it," Lydia said, through gritted teeth.

"Don't start that," Stiles said. "That's not fair. Five seconds ago you were telling her not to be ashamed and now this."

Lydia closed her eyes. "I can't deal with this right now," she said. "I got dismembered last night and I haven't even started to process that and now I'm on drugs and I'll have to murder someone to not get eaten alive again and I can't tell my parents what really happened but they want to bring the FBI in to find out and everything's too much and I just can't deal with this." Stiles felt the beginning of Lydia's claws sharpening, but instantly her back arched in a violent spasm and she screamed in pain.

A nurse came running into the room. "What happened?"

Stiles pushed back quickly from Lydia's bed. She'd settled back down onto the bed but was hyperventilating. "I don't know," he lied. "She just started screaming."

"You need to get out," the nurse said to the three of them. Sophie and Bridget scampered for the door, but Stiles looked back at Lydia, whose eyes were squeezed shut in pain, still breathing way too fast and way too hard. "Now," the nurse said, picking Stiles up by the arm and tossing him toward the door so that he stumbled out into the hallway and fell to the floor, his back against the far wall.

Completely unaware of anyone else around him, that's where he stayed, his head in his hands.

***[]***

At the same time as that discussion, Scott and Allison were coming to a halt outside the hospital. "When you asked to see me outside I didn't realize you meant _outside_," she said, trying for a light tone of voice. "Little extreme?"

"Not at all," Scott said. "Werewolf hearing. I don't want Lydia to overhear this conversation."

"This the part where you tell me you're not _really_ going to let Lydia kill someone, even though you're telling her you will?" Allison asked, folding her arms again. "Because I'm starting get deja vu."

Scott shook his head. "I'm not going to tell you that I won't let Lydia kill someone," he said. "You deserve the truth. If it comes down it, I'll let her do it." Allison gasped in protest, but Scott held up a hand. "I love her, Allison. She's the sister I never had. Tell me, if it came down to it, that you wouldn't pick your family over some random stranger. That you wouldn't pick me."

Allison looked away. "That's so not fair."

Scott laughed, the harsh, angry laugh that Allison hadn't heard in over a month. "You're right, it isn't," he said. "None of this is fair and none of it makes _sense_ and its all just crazy, and somehow it all seems to land on me, in the end. So will _I_ let Lydia kill someone to save herself? Who the hell decided I'm qualified to make that decision?"

Allison reached out to touch Scott's face. "It's okay," she said. "We can find another way. She doesn't have to kill anyone."

"What if she does?" Scott said, jerking back, out of Allison's reach. "This thing isn't coming for you. It isn't coming for your family. It's coming for _us. My_ people, not yours. This can't be your decision."

Allison stepped forward, replacing her hand on Scott's cheek. "It's not _my_ decision," she said. "If it were up to me, I'd let Lydia do what she needs to do. But you know what my father will say. It can't happen, Scott."

Scott's face was masked with angry pain. "Great," he muttered, looking away. "Now you're lying to me. Werewolf hearing, Allison. I know you wouldn't let Lydia kill someone, so don't bother trying to lie. In the end, she just doesn't matter that much to you." When Scott looked up, his eyes were full of tears again. "Whatever's happening between us – because I think we can both agree that this isn't just regular old teenage love anymore – it's distracting me. It's distracting both of us. And right now, with Bealstock out there, we can't afford to be distracted."

Allison took a step back. "Scott, what are you saying?"

Scott breathed out heavily. "That we need to take a break," he said. "Cool things off for a little while. Focus on getting through things while times are crazy. Then we can figure out, you know, us."

Allison shook her head. "Times will never _not_ be crazy, Scott," she said. "You're always going to be what you are, and as long as that's the case, our lives are never going to be normal, never going to slow down. If we can't figure this out now..."

She let the statement hang in the air. Scott, looking a million years old, shook his head. "You'll never _not_ be what you are, either," he said. "And I want to figure out what all of it means, but we just _can't_ right now, okay? I need to be able to help the people I love – including you – and if I can't trust myself around you than how can I do that?"

Allison felt her lip quiver. _Don't you dare cry!_ she thought. "It feels like you're breaking up with me."

Scott shook his head. "Don't feel that way."

She sniffled, her brow furrowing. "You didn't say that's not what you're doing."

Scott took hold of her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. "Don't feel that way," he repeated. "You just have to have faith that we'll get through this."

He bent forward and kissed her. The feeling of his lips stirred all the parts of Allison that had felt like they were freezing over during the conversation, but then the kiss broke abruptly and Scott turned to reenter the hospital, leaving her standing there watching his receding back, fighting back tears.

***[]***


	18. Strategy Progress Consequence

STRATEGY PROGRESS CONSEQUENCE

It wasn't until two days later that the doctors allowed Scott to see Lydia again. Stiles had filled him in on her sudden burst of intense pain when he'd gotten back into the hospital, which had taken all of five seconds to figure out – it was the same pain Scott had felt when he'd begun to shift after his run-in with Bealstock. Stiles had barely been listening, even as Scott had stumbled through how he'd gotten over it and wondered out loud how Lydia would. And then, Stiles had just gotten up and walked away, without a word.

_Which probably has something to do with Sophie's scent being all over him_, Scott had thought to himself. _God, this is all getting too complicated. Maybe if we ask Bealstock to let us sort out our relationship drama before he tries to kill us, he'll go take a vacation for a month or two. Or twenty._

Absent Stiles (who'd kept to himself for the ensuing Sunday and all day at school on Monday), Scott had waited at the hospital by himself, asking every half hour when they'd let him see her again until one of the nurses threatened to have security remove him if he asked again. And, finally, Monday night, that same nurse came up to him outside Lydia's room and told him that the doctors had cleared her for visitors. She looked around, asked about Lydia's parents, Scott had shrugged, and then he'd popped out of the seat, gave the nurse a mock bow and a sheepish grin, and then bolted for the door.

On the other side, Lydia looked a little better than she had on Saturday – her skin had regained some of its color and didn't look quite so stretched across her face, and her eyes looked more alert, more Lydia-like. The absence of her right arm still felt incredibly marked to Scott and he winced, trying to keep his eyes from focusing on the space where it should have lain.

"Hey," Lydia said, looking up at him. With her left hand, she was holding a tiny paper cup with a swizzle straw sticking out. She reached over to the table beside her and set the cup down. Scott sniffed, almost involuntarily, and smelled ginger ale.

"Hey," he replied. "They wouldn't let me see you until now."

Lydia nodded. "I know," she said. "They've been total losers. I asked a million times."

Scott chuckled. "Me too," he said. "They threatened to throw me out."

Lydia smiled. "I'd like to have seen them try."

"I guess it would have been pretty funny."

Lydia's gaze wandered over to the cup of ginger ale, and they lapsed into a brief, slightly awkward silence. "Look, Scott," she began. "About what I said the other day..."

Scott crossed the room and sat down in the chair next to her left side. "You didn't say anything wrong," he said, taking her hand.

Lydia rolled her eyes at him. "I told you I'm going to go out and murder someone," she said. "Hell, I told _Allison_. I'm surprised her Dad hasn't shown up to blow my head off yet."

Scott shook his head. "Allison hasn't said a word. Neither have Sophie or Bridget or Stiles, not that they'd have any reason to in the first place. Chris doesn't have to hear about any of this."

Lydia lifted her gaze to look Scott in the face. Her eyes were brimming with tears and were very round. "How?" she asked.

"How what?" Scott asked.

Lydia let out a harsh laugh, deflating. "How all of it?" she asked. "How could I kill someone? How could we keep Chris from finding out? How could we even live after that? And what about Bridget and Nia and, you know, Sophie? Are we going to make them murderers too?"

Scott shook his head. "One thing at a time," he said. "Let's focus on you. Remember, the Argents only disagree with killing if the person who's going to be dying doesn't deserve it. I figure if we find you someone who deserves to die, we can get this taken care of."

"So instead of a murderer, we're making me an executioner?" Lydia asked. "I don't know how I feel about that. I don't know how I feel about being a murderer, and then the idea of being an executioner feels like something totally separate I'd have to think about and deal with."

Scott nodded. "I guess that makes sense," he said. He let his hand fall out of Lydia's grasp, leaning back in his chair. "Okay, better idea. We find someone who's brain dead, on life support. Someone who's going to have the plug pulled anyway. You kill that person. It's not even an execution, really. They're already dead for all intents and purposes; it's just the body that needs to die."

Lydia managed a weak smile. "You're getting philosophical," she said. "Do you even know that's enough for Bealstock?"

Scott shook his head. "Nope," he said. "No idea."

Lydia pushed herself up into more of a sitting position, carefully, wincing as she did so. "Allison mentioned that you guys had figured some stuff out about Bealstock. What was it?"

"Stiles and Sophie and Bridget didn't explain all that to you after we left?" Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lydia's face twitched. "No," she said. "We talked about other things. Things I'd rather not talk about now."

Scott shrugged. "That's up to you," he said. "But remember, Stiles has been my best friend forever. No one knows him better than I do. If you need advice or just someone to run something by, I'm always here for you." Lydia nodded, far away. Scott grabbed her hand again, gently, and she looked around at him. "It's important you understand that. I'm always going to be here for you, going forward. I'm never letting something happen to you again."

Lydia smiled weakly again. "No offense, but if you try to stop Bealstock, he'll tear you apart. He might even notice that you're there while he does it."

Scott shook his head. "Like you said, we've made a little progress in the Bealstock department," he said, and proceeded to relay the complete story of Deaton's revelation and the ensuing conversation on the arez-grou.

When he was finished, Lydia's eyes were wide again. "So a bunch of hunters screwed up hundreds of years ago and now we're suffering as a result?" she asked. Scott nodded. "Figures."

"We're honestly not sure how knowing this helps us," Scott said. "No one's come up with a plan. Or even the beginning of a plan. It feels good to _know_, you know, so he doesn't feel like such a god, but I guess knowing doesn't really help that much practically."

"Maybe it does," Lydia said. "I mean, we know that he can activate our powers. Maybe we can use that to our advantage."

"How?" Scott asked.

"By directing them all at him," Lydia said. "So he can set us off without us realizing it? If we're on our guard around him, maybe when he sets us off, we can point ourselves at him."

Scott frowned. "I guess that could help," he said. "But honestly, the night I fought him, I was pretty focused on fighting him. Or, more accurately, on ripping him limb from limb."

Lydia's brow furrowed. "Yeah," she said. "I mean, I wasn't _un_focused Friday night. Maybe the girls' powers? If Nia's powers are enough to turn a house full of burly hunters into a pile of emotionally-crippled head cases, imagine what those powers would do, focused on one person. Or one Bealstock."

Scott nodded. "That sounds better," he said. "But Bealstock would have to be trying to use Nia against us again. I really don't think she can do that on her own."

"At all?" Lydia asked.

Scott shook his head. "She hasn't said more than three words total in the last couple of days. Once we were finished getting the story out of her, she kind of turtled up."

"An anti-social nymph," Lydia muttered. "Of all the problems in the world. Think that counts as a first-world problem?"

"A what?" Scott asked.

Lydia shook her head. "Never mind."

"The hunters have been putting their heads together on this too," Scott said. "Chris has cooled down a lot. Granted, Allison and I aren't – uh, well, you know."

"You're not?" Lydia asked. "Why not? Are you still hurting every time you transform?"

Scott shook his head. "No," he said. "Allison and I – when you were taken – well, we kind of were overcome, and...anyway. No, I can transform again. I kind of think that's why Bealstock did what he did. He wanted me to be strong again so he can make me his acolyte." Scott's brow furrowed. "There's something else. I haven't brought it up back at the house because Nia's still looking like she has shell shock and I didn't want it getting back to her. Bealstock called her something. Sounded like 'mint' but with a 'th' sound at the end."

"Minthe," Lydia said. "A nymph from Greek mythology."

Scott grinned. "I _knew_ you'd know."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "As soon as I'm out of here, I'm teaching you to Google."

Scott's smile turned affectionate. "I'd much rather Lyddie-oogle."

Lydia gave him one of her old sharp, deadpan looks. "That sounds disgusting." She tossed her hair slightly and then winced again at the pain, but then continued before Scott could say or do anything. "Like I said, Minthe was a nymph in Greek mythology. If I remember correctly – which I always do, so don't worry – she had the power to bring revelations."

"Revelations?" Scott asked. "That's not exactly what happened the other night."

Lydia shrugged. "Depends on how you look at it," she said. "Minthe's revelations were part of a kind of 'divine madness,' which sounds pretty spot on."

Scott frowned. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I guess. That's kind of what happened to me and Declan – we just kind of realized what we wanted."

"And both of you wanted to get laid," Lydia said, a lot more venom in her voice than Scott had anticipated. "Typical."

Scott held up his hands, taking a deep breath. "Lydia," he said, quietly. "There's nothing I'm ever going to be able to do to make up for what happened the other night."

Lydia seemed to snap out of the brief reverie she'd slipped into. "What?"

"You know," he said. "Doing what I was – well, _Allison_, while you were getting – uh, you know."

Lydia stared. "That was the worst apology ever."

"I'm sorry," Scott half-growled. "It's kind of embarrassing, but you know, it's more than that. I'm ashamed. I don't think I've ever felt that way before in my life."

Lydia shook her head. "I'm just baiting you," she said, deflating instantly and sinking down into the bed, looking about ten years older. "I don't blame you, Scott. I don't blame anyone, except maybe Bealstock, except that doesn't really make a difference, does it?"

Scott quirked his head at her. "What's bothering you, then? If it's not me, I mean."

Lydia shook her head. "It's nothing," she said.

Scott nodded, slowly. "Sure," he said.

"Really."

"Of course. I believe you."

"I mean it, Scott."

"Notice me agreeing with you?"

"Yeah, but you're lying. You don't believe me."

"No, I don't. But I am agreeing with you. Best you're going to get."

Lydia shook her head again in frustration. "Ugh," she said. "I don't know what's worse, the lie detector or how you can be honest and lie and be completely earnest all at the same time. That shouldn't be allowed."

With some difficulty, Scott caught Lydia's wandering eyes. "Maybe it'd help to talk about it."

She shook her head again, although less violently. "Don't want to talk about it," she said. "I mean, it's amazingly petty, given everything, and yet it's what I'm sitting here thinking about most. And that doesn't make sense, you know?" Scott nodded, despite not having a clue what she was talking about. "I mean, I lost an _arm_. That's ridiculously important. My life is completely, irrevocably different from how it was a week ago. Christ, you know I was right-handed? I'm going to have to relearn _everything_. And here I am sitting here thinking about Stiles and that _harpy_..." she trailed off, realizing that she'd said it out loud. She looked up to see Scott's understanding face. "Ah, crap. Now you made me go and say it."

"It's okay," Scott said. "For the record, I know. Wasn't really sure how to bring it up to you, but I could smell them on each other the second I was in the same room with both of them right after we all woke up."

"Wasn't hard to drag it out of them," Lydia said. "Stiles is a lot of things, but a master of secrets is not one of them. Scott, I think I might have overreacted."

Scott quirked an eyebrow at this. "How so?"

Lydia sighed, shifted a little bit on the bed for comfort. "I got upset, and then I started to shift and that's when the pain hit, and I think I said some things in there that were a little cruel."

"I think you probably earned a little cruel," Scott observed.

Lydia shook her head. "Not really," she said. "It's just sex. I've used it a dozen times over for all kinds of petty things. They weren't even using each other. Neither of them had control of what they were doing. I shouldn't be blaming them for this."

Scott's face was twisted in concentration. "Stiles is my best friend," he began. Lydia went to jump in, but Scott hushed her. "Just wait. Stiles is my best friend. I know he wouldn't do anything to hurt you on purpose."

"I know," Lydia interrupted. "That's what I've been telling myself - "

"Would you just let me finish?" Scott interrupted back. "He might be a great guy and all that, but it doesn't change the fact that he hurt you. I could be wrong, but I feel like trying to deny that you're upset about this isn't any healthier than whatever you said to them the night it happened."  
Lydia's eyes were welling with tears. "It's so stupid," she said, the first tears running down her cheeks. "I guess I'm just sitting here thinking of what I lost that night and that's just one more thing, one thing I thought we were going to get to share, his first time. I know that sounds tacky, it sounds tacky to me and I've always done everything possible to avoid tacky wherever possible, but there it is. I lost that and I can never get it back, it can't be fixed, and _oh my God my arm is gone, Scott, it's just gone_..."

By the end tears were pouring down from Lydia's eyes. Scott sprang up and, with a gentle strength and agility that only a werewolf could muster, wrapped his arms around Lydia in just such a way as to avoid hurting her. He kept his ears peeled for doctors – they undoubtedly would have gotten angry with him for hugging her, and he didn't want to get kicked out – but otherwise he devoted his full attention to hugging Lydia as she sobbed. If he applied just the right amount of pressure, he could keep the sobs from shaking her body enough to hurt.

***[]***

When Declan heard Scott enter the house, some time later and after dark, he beckoned their host into the kitchen. Scott's eyebrow arched when he saw Chris Argent sitting at the table with Gunther and Curtis, but neither Scott nor Chris said anything and, despite the two obviously being tense, Declan couldn't help but think that their reactions to each other were improving. _Which is good_, he thought. _If their reactions to each other had gotten any worse they'd be killing each other._

"Glad you're home, kid," Gunther said to Scott. "We've about tapped out our resources on this arez-grou thing. We were just about to start trying to come up with something to beat it."

Scott and Declan both pulled up chairs, Scott reversing his to sit on it backward. "What do we know?"

Gunther sighed. "What do we _know_? Jack shit," he said.

"Bealstock isn't a common arez-grou," Chris said, his voice even. "Some of his attributes – like the immunity to supernatural creatures – have been reversed, while some others – like the strength and speed – remain in the way a typical arez-grou would have been. Aside from the things we've already observed, we have no way of knowing what things are opposites for Bealstock and which aren't."

"Great," Scott muttered. "There weren't any other arez-grou that came out wrong like this?"

Chris spread his hands in front of him. "If there were others, we don't know about them," he said. "Gunther and I have been going back over all the cases we managed to tie to Bealstock before we knew anything about it, hoping we could find details there that would help us nail down exactly what he can and can't do."

"And?" Scott asked.

"Reference my jack shit comment earlier," Gunther grunted. "The thing's been killing for hundreds of years. It's gotten good at covering its tracks."

Scott's brow furrowed. "No it hasn't," he said, quietly, not looking at any of the hunters in particular but instead staring at the wall, lost in concentration.

"What?" Gunther asked.

"It hasn't gotten good at covering its tracks," Scott said. "It's gotten lucky. I don't think Bealstock cares about its tracks. The way it acts – its like it doesn't really care about planning. It just reacts. After all, it's stronger and faster than anything out there. If it's been running around murdering things uncontested for hundreds of years, it's probably developed a superiority complex. Like a crazy one."

Chris leaned forward. "Are you sure about this, Scott?"

"Not one hundred percent," Scott said. "And it does plan somewhat – coming here on the full moon wasn't an accident – but I don't think it puts much faith in planning meticulously. It's never had to rely on planning, or at least it hasn't for a very, very long time."

Declan found himself nodding. "Scott's right," he said. "In more ways than one. We're not going to win this fight by looking back. We need to be looking forward instead. What are we going to do the next time Bealstock shows up?"

"I'm mostly in favor of killing it," Curtis said.

Declan rolled his eyes. "No, _really_," he said.

"Really," he said. "Look, I figure it shows up again, we shoot it lots until it's dead, case closed. It may be faster than a werewolf, but I doubt it's faster than a bullet. Or a whole lot of bullets."

Scott shook his head. "Your bullets would barely slow me down," he said. "And Bealstock's tougher."

"We could each unload a clip into it and it might not notice," Declan agreed.

"Let's throw it all on the table," Chris said. "What are Bealstock's advantages?"

"Unbelievably fast and strong, durable, camouflages to the point of invisibility, has no scent we can track," Scott ticked off.

"We can take care of that last one."

The five males looked up at the higher pitched voice. Bridget was peeking around the corner into the kitchen, a sheepish look on her face. _And I thought Sophie was the one who was always eavesdropping_, Declan thought. _Have to think of a way to make fun of her for this later_. Gunther sat up. "What do you mean, honey?"

"Well," she said, stepping into the kitchen, a blush rising on her cheek. Declan's eyes swept up and down her – a relatively conservative black skirt that ran past her knees and a white t-shirt which showed just enough curve to make Declan's blood warm. "On the full moon, with everything that happened, I kind of figured out that I can use my pheromones. Like, activate and direct them."  
"I doubt they'd have much influence on Bealstock," Chris said. "Even if he isn't immune, he hasn't been a man in a very long time – assuming that 'he' was a man to begin with, since not all arez-grou were made from men. The process that makes them arez-grou also makes them extremely gender-neutral."

"Not to use them on him," Bridget said, shaking her head. Her hair had a slight curl to it, which mean that when she shook her head her hair bounced. "Lydia could smell the pheromones on us at the hospital. Said they smelled like cake. If we could hit Bealstock with them, he'd smell that way too, and you'd be able to track him."

Gunther turned to Scott. "She right?"

Scott nodded. "Not exactly like cake, but whatever," he said. "It was pretty distinctive."

Gunther smiled back at Bridget. "You think you could pull that off?"

Bridget shook her head. "I have no idea," she said. "Maybe."

"I'd say that's better than nothing," Chris said. "Thank you, Bridget."

Bridget beamed, her attention involuntarily shifting over to Declan, and he smiled back. _Okay, well, maybe I'll go light on the making fun of her, if she keeps smiling at me like that_.

Scott, meanwhile, was back to staring hard at the wall in concentration. "Back up," he said, swinging his gaze over to Chris. "Say what you said about immunity again."

"Just that even though he probably isn't immune to Bridget's pheromones, it doesn't mean they'll effect him," Chris repeated. "Why?"

Scott smiled, looking just predatory enough to make Declan feel like pushing his chair back. "I know how to kill Bealstock."

Raise eyebrows abounded around the table. True to form, Gunther recovered first. "Well, by all means, keep it to yourself."

Scott rolled his eyes at the grizzled old hunter. "We figure he's not immune to us, since his ability to activate our powers took the place of that immunity," he said. "So he's not immune to a werewolf's bite. So if I bite him, he turns into a werewolf. Including..."

"A werewolf's aversion to silver and wolfsbane," Chris concluded, smiling as well. "We have plenty of that."

Scott's smile instantly turned into a frown, but he ignored the comment. "So all I have to do is get close enough to bite him, then one of you delivers a kill shot. Biting him would make him a Beta, which means you wouldn't need a ton of silver or wolfsbane to get the job done."

"So, uh, if we're just going to wind up shooting him, why don't we just shoot him from the start?" Curtis asked. "Wasn't that my idea?"

"We don't know that that'll kill him, Curtis," Chris said. "This plan has a much higher chance of succeeding."

"Yeah, if wolf-boy here can get close enough to get his fangs on him," Curtis said. He shot Scott a sneer. "No offense."

Declan broke in. "There's a way to do that, too," he said. All eyes turned to him. "Well, Bealstock wants Scott as his acolyte. So maybe you should go be his acolyte."

This suggestion was met with silence for a moment as each of them mulled it over. "It would get him close," Chris mused. "Closer than he'd be able to get otherwise."

"Dangerous plan, though," Gunther muttered. He turned to Scott. "Think you can fool the thing?"

Scott nodded. "It wouldn't have to be for long," he said. "If we set it up just right, I lull it into a false sense of security, bite it, and one of you jumps out and kills it."

Bridget sighed. "You make it sound so easy."

"The best plans are simple plans," Gunther declared. "Fewer places for it to get fucked up. I like it."

Scott laughed. "That's good, since I hate it," he said. "But I think its our best shot."

"How do we set this up?" Chris asked.

"Fuck if I know," Scott said, pushing back from the table to stand up. "But at least it's a start."

As the rest began to stand and disperse, Gunther chuckled to himself. "Kid's starting to sound like me."

***[]***

It didn't take long for Scott, Gunther, Chris, and Curtis to all wander off, leaving Declan and Bridget sitting at the table, staring down at it. _He looked so happy when I had my idea_, Bridget thought. _I wonder how I'm supposed to ask him what he thought without sounding conceited._ "So did you like my idea?" Bridget asked, avoiding Declan's eyes and blushing furiously. _Great. That sounded totally conceited._

"Yeah," Declan responded, sitting back in his chair and running a hand through his soft hair. "It's good thinking. When you're facing a superior enemy, anything you can do to nullify his advantages is worth pursuing."

Bridget grinned. "Did father teach you that?"

Declan's face fell a little. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, he did."

Bridget leaned forward. "What's the matter?" she asked.

Declan perked up. "Nothing," he said. "No big deal."

Bridget bit her lip. _He's holding something back_, she thought. _That's pretty obvious. Do I pry...?_ "No," she said, feeling unsure as the words came out. "Tell me. Come on, it's okay. It's weird that we both call him 'father,' isn't it?"

Declan shook his head. "Nah, that isn't it," he said. "I guess it's weird that I don't."

Bridget's brow furrowed. _Okay, not what I was expecting_. "What do you mean?"

Declan sighed. "It's mostly stuff I've dealt with," he said. "It's just, he wasn't really around a lot when me and Curtis were kids. He'd leave us alone and go running off killing things all the time. I know he cared and stuff, but, you know, he wasn't really around."

Bridget felt her blood freeze. "Because he was spending time with us."

Declan looked up, sharply. "Nah," he said. "No, that's not it."

Bridget nodded, feeling a little dazed. "Yes it is," she said. "I mean, he wasn't around with us all the time either, but it felt like he was more often than not. And I don't remember a single full moon for the past couple of years where he didn't check in. Heck," she said, feeling a little thrill of horror at her new revelation, "I remember one time when we were seven he spent six straight months with us. We stole your father."

"Hey, that's not it at all," Declan said.

Bridget forced herself to look up, her eyes wide. Declan's, looking back at her, were intense and hurt. "I can see how much it hurts you," Bridget said, feeling like she was receding back in on herself.

Declan reached over and grasped her hand. His grip was strong and sure, but not heavy enough to hurt. "You listen to me," he said, drawing her eyes back up to meet his. "This look right now, it isn't about all that. It's about right now. You got enough shame you've carted around your whole life, and I'd go a lot happier if you never felt ashamed again. You didn't steal my father. He was a grown man who made his own choices."  
"Choices he made because of us," Bridget continued, her hand slipping out of Declan's grasp. "Oh my God, I can't believe this. I'm so sorry, I – it never occurred to us – I don't know what to do, I - "

Wherever this sentence was headed, it broke off when Declan rose from his chair, closed the distance between himself and Bridget in one stride, grasped her under the arms and gently but firmly tugged her to her feet where, startled, he attached his mouth to hers in a strong kiss. After a moment of surprise, and another moment where she realized what was happening but still clung to the rising guilt she felt, Bridget felt herself melt against him, her body pressing forward against his in every place it could, his arm wrapping itself around her waist as hers snaked behind his back, crossing, and all the while his lips playing against hers, hints of his warm breath tickling her face, and for a second Bridget forgot completely what they'd been discussing.

When, about a century (or a millisecond, Bridget couldn't be sure) later he broke the kiss, she leaned back against his arms, her own sliding up to wrap around his neck. "That was the best interruption ever."

Declan grinned. "Happy to oblige," he said. "Look, I mean what I said. You didn't do anything wrong. You're a beautiful, wonderful, empathetic person, and hard as it may be to believe, I guess he had something to do with you turning out that way. So in the end, I'd say I owe him a bunch for helping you to turn into the person you are, because now I'm the one who's benefiting."

Bridget blushed. "Flatterer," she said. The insecurity crept back up on her. "You're sure?"

Declan nodded. "Positive," he said. "Like I said, it's stuff I mostly dealt with years ago. Things are the way they are; I figure you just go with them, figure them out along the way, deal with the things you don't like and enjoy the ones you do."

Bridget laughed. _He's still holding me_, she thought. _That's okay_. "You make it sound so easy," she said.

Declan laughed too. "God, you got no idea how much I wish it was easy sometimes," he said. "It's that 'figure them out along the way' part that keeps coming back to bite me."

"You 'have'," Bridget corrected, passively, still smiling.

"What?" Delcan asked.

"It'd be 'you have,'" she said. "Not 'you got no idea,' 'you have no idea.' That is the correct usage."

Declan rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "Great, you're a grammar Nazi."

Bridget batted her eyes at him. "I'll have you know that I only date respectable men."

Declan looked at her sideways. "You done much dating? And yeah, I know, it's 'have you done much dating,' right?"

"If I had done much dating, they would have been respectable."

"You can't respect a guy who don't talk good?" Declan asked, grinning.

"Now you're just doing it on purpose," Bridget said, sticking her tongue out at him. She felt Declan shiver at the sight of her tongue and quickly withdrew it back into her mouth. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Declan said. When Bridget frowned at him again, he continued before she could protest. "Really, nothing's _wrong_. It's just, that was kinda sexy, and, well, you know, I kinda reacted to it and all..."

He inclined his head down. Bridget followed his gaze and felt him shift slightly and then felt what he was talking about. "Oh," she said. "I see."

He laughed. "You came, you saw, you conquered. Several times each."

She smiled at him. "Incorrect grammar paired with historical quotes turned into sexual innuendo," Bridget said. "What am I going to do with you?"

She felt his grip tighten, pressing her body in closer to his. "I got a few ideas," he whispered. Still, when she responded by also tightening her grip to bring him closer, she felt him hesitate. "Maybe we should talk this out a little before we get all carried away again." Bridget nodded, trying to get her blood flow under control as he let go of her. She felt herself wobble slightly – he'd practically been holding her up with the grip he'd had her in – but then she steadied herself. Declan looked around. Although no one was in the kitchen with them, Bridget could hear some of the others walking around the house. "Come on," Declan said, taking Bridget's hand. "Let's go for a walk. I don't want to have this talk around people with super hearing. Or, you know, _Dad_."

Outside, Declan lead Bridget over to the largest tree in the backyard, the pressure of his hand on hers making those blood flow issues all the worse. He settled down to sit under the tree and she joined his, close enough to touch but not so close as to crowd him. _I'm really not sure what he's going to say_, she thought. _I thought he didn't want to make a big deal about talking about these things._ "What is it, Declan?"

Declan grimaced. "It's like this," he said. "The other night – you know – it was the best night of my life. Considering everything that happened to Lydia that probably sounds selfish, but it's the truth. I never really thought I'd have something that was so, you know...amazing."

Bridget felt her body warming again. "I know exactly what you mean," she said. "I didn't even think it was possible."

Declan smiled. "Yeah," he said. "But, you know, that doesn't mean we should just go running back into, you know, what we did the other night."

Bridget's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Declan grimaced again, sharper. "I like you a lot," he said. He breathed out, slowly. "A _whole_ lot. But, you know, _sex_ is something I always felt you built up to. Just 'cause we got it reversed the first time doesn't mean we should just do it again. The other night was special in so many ways – like I said, it was the best night I've ever had, hands down – but it was also special because of what was going on."

Bridget's brow furrowed. "You feel like you weren't in control?"

Declan shook his head. "No," he said. "No, we were both in control. But Nia's – I don't know, whatever that was she did – it had an effect on us. Or at least it had an effect on me. Anyway, I _knew_ that doing all that was the right thing to do, and it was. And even though now I _feel_ like I want to, I don't _know, _and I'm just afraid that if we run back into things now when we don't really know we're ready, we might wind up regretting it. I don't want you regretting me. Ever."

Bridget's brow remained furrowed, but she managed a weak smile. "I don't want you regretting me, either," she said.

"So you agree?" Declan ask, sounding both hopeful and a little disappointed at the same time.

Bridget managed a stronger smile. "I understand where you are coming from," she said. "But I want you to know – I _know_ this is right. I don't know if it's a nymph thing or what. You know that the first time is supposed to hurt and be really uncomfortable for girls?"

"Uh," Declan said, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, I guess. Curtis is the only person who's ever talked to me about sex, and I don't think he'd have cared."

"Well, take it from me, it's supposed to be unpleasant," Bridget said. She blushed. "I checked with Allison to be sure. But my first time – our first time – it wasn't unpleasant at all. The whole thing felt completely amazing from start to finish."

Declan couldn't help but grin. "And from to start to finish again?"

Her smile was now completely genuine. "Yeah," she said. "Like I said, I don't know if that's a nymph thing, or if I'm just a freak in a really good way, or if you're a really, really good lover, or maybe if it's some combination. But it was amazing. And you know what the best part of it was?"

Declan cast his eyes around to make sure no one was listening. "The orgasms?" he asked, in a hushed voice.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Although each and every one of those was a new kind of wonderful, no," she said. "It was that I felt _safe_. I'm still feeling it days later. When I'm around you, or when I'm thinking about being near you, I feel safe and secure and calm in a way that I've literally never felt before. And when I think about doing it again, the first thing I feel is – I don't know, this may sound cheesy, but I feel this warm sense of joy that we'll keep on being together like that."

Declan was, by that point, staring. "Wow," he said. "That's...wow. Intense."

Bridget chugged on before she could lose her nerve. "And I don't know exactly how you're feeling, so that's why I'm a little nervous, too," she said. "And I get why you're saying we should wait. If you need time, that's okay. But don't take too long, 'cause every instinct I have about this is telling me that what happened the other night was just the tip of the iceberg of how good it's going to be."

Declan was staring at her hard. Bridget felt her own senses heightening; everything from the musky scent he was giving off to his rigid body language was screaming "desire" to her. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded. "Everything inside of me is completely sure," she said.

Declan nodded in return. He brushed off his pants and stood. Surprised, Bridget also began to stand, only to have Declan catch her up as she rose and press her shoulders back against the tree they'd been leaning against. Her breath sped up with just enough time for his lips to close over hers. She grabbed roughly at his back and pulled him closer, her hands coming to rest grasping at his hips, pulling them into her own, feeling the warm friction beginning to build even under their clothes. Declan pulled back slightly only to plunge forward again, the second kiss even deeper than the first, punctuated with many smaller kisses, and Bridget's right hand rose up to the back of Declan's head to hold him closer and to run her fingers through his hair, which was already damp with sweat. Declan's kisses began trailing down from her mouth, down her cheek and onto her neck, and she twisted her head aside to give him easier access, still running one hand through his hair as she pulled his hips into her own. When he hit a particularly sensitive spot just above her collarbone, she moaned and her eyes opened – to see the house, forty yards away.

"Not here," she muttered, although she kept pressure on his head so that he wouldn't draw back from what he was doing to her neck and upper chest. "Anyone inside can see."

"Where?" he murmured between strokes of his tongue on her skin.

"I don't know – oh, right there, that feels good," she murmured back. "Nia's in the room we share."

"And Curtis is in the basement," Declan said, withdrawing his face from Bridget's collarbone.

Bridget suppressed a huff of frustration at his broken contact. "So no where in the house," she said. "Where can we go out here?"

Declan seemed frustrated himself for a moment, but then his face lit up. "Scott's car still isn't working..."

Bridget didn't wait for him to finish the statement. This time taking him by the hand, she lead him around the house to Scott's car, which was conveniently parked on the other side of Gunther's truck from the house, which meant that no one inside would be able to see what they were up to. Bridget opened the back door on the driver's side, hesitated while considering her options, then spun around and pushed Declan lightly back. He took a step back to stay on his feet and watched as, licking her lips at him, she turned, bent over slowly and deliberately, and crawled into the car itself.

Once inside, she stayed on all fours and looked back around at Declan. _If you'd told me a week ago that I'd be acting like this..._ she thought, but then pushed the thought away. "Coming?" she asked, in a voice that was low and, she hoped, sexy.

"Hopefully not for a little bit," Declan said, walking over to the car and leaning on it to look inside at her. "But if you're asking if I'm looking to get inside, I'd say that's a definite yes."

True to his word, Declan climbed inside. Bridget didn't move, letting him get situated on the seat behind her, kneeling. At first, he hunched his head forward, but then with a small grunt just let himself fall forward so that he was covering her back with his stomach and chest. He reached forward to grasp the door in front of them for support, and a second later his lips had returned to her neck, albeit from the back this time, but the kisses he was delivering were wetter and sloppier and needier and she felt herself grinding herself back into his crotch as he reached around with his free hand to work up under her skirt and she also reached down to guide his hand to just where she wanted it, a spot he'd hit a few times during their first time and which she wanted explored in more depth this time, and her own mouth fell on his outstretched arm and began delivering kisses as his hand, guided by hers, made contact with soft, tender flesh between her legs and she let out a moan which also contained Declan's name and she felt him reaching for his own fly, to begin to work down his own pants...

...and then someone tapped on the glass behind them and both of them stumbled forward, startled out of their wits.

***[]***

Allison had stayed upstairs deliberately while the hunters were having their meeting with Scott; she really didn't want to be in the same room as her father, and she really, _really_ didn't want to be in the same room as both her father and Scott at the same time. _The whole thing would be a lot easier to sort out if I didn't love both of them_, she thought, sitting upstairs on Scott's bed. When she heard a car door shut and an engine start, she sauntered over to the window in time to see her father's SUV pulling away. Deciding on a snack, she went downstairs and straight into the otherwise-unoccupied kitchen.

She was still there when she heard a knock at the front door. Instantly she was out of her chair, grasping the collapsible bow and arrow she'd taken to carrying everywhere. She met Gunther, Curtis, and Scott in the hall, all three of them looking just as concerned as she did. Gunther and Curtis had their hands hovering over concealed weapons. Without a word, Scott nodded at her and then again at the door. She stepped up and peered through the peephole. Two people in dark suits were in the peephole's immediate periphery. She didn't recognize either of them. Still without a word, she stepped back and looked at Scott, shrugging. An unreadable expression on his face, he stepped forward, grasped the handle of the door, and swung it open.

The two people standing outside were clearly thrown by his sudden motion. "Well, that's one way to make an entrance," the man muttered.

"My name is Agent Sanders," the female in the dark suit said. "This is Agent Murray. We're with the FBI. We're here to talk to Scott McCall."

"That's me," Scott said, folding his arms. Allison peered around the door and saw that Declan and Bridget, their faces bright red, were standing behind the two agents. "Can I ask what you're doing with my friends?" Scott asked.

"These two? Caught them about to get hot 'n heavy in someone's car back there," the male, Agent Murray, said. When he saw the flush of angry concern pass over Gunther's face, he held up his hands. "Don't worry, they weren't doing anything that'd get them thrown in jail. At least, they weren't _yet_."

"Is there any chance we could come in, Mr. McCall?" the female agent, Sanders asked.

Scott took a step back, keeping his arms folded. "Please," he said. The agents took a step inside and Scott turned to lead them into the kitchen, giving Gunther an almost imperceptible nod as he did so. Gunther in turn nodded back and took Curtis by the arm, muttering about how this was a 'family matter' that didn't concern them. He didn't grab at Declan or Bridget, giving them another concerned, borderline-angry look which, even to Allison, clearly said, _later_. The two of them, mortified, followed into the living room.

Allison, however, followed Scott into the kitchen. He was already sitting at the table, the two agents sitting across from him. They all looked up as Allison entered. Scott's eyes were reproachful for a half second, but then he shook it off. The agents, however, hesitated. "Maybe it'd be best if your girlfriend waited in the other room, too," Sanders said.

Scott shook his head, not missing a beat. "Anything you have to say – and anything I have to say – she can hear," he said. Allison put on a small smile for his benefit. _All things considered it feels good hearing him say that_.

"So be it," Murray responded. He looked at Allison. "You have a name, honey?"

"Yeah," she said, folding her arms like Scott had done a moment before. "It's a nice one, too."

Sanders and Murray exchanged a silent look. "There's no need for any of that," Sanders said. "We're just here to talk. We're the good guys."

"I've heard that one before," Scott muttered.

"Most teenagers have," Sanders said. "All right, let's cut to the chase. I'm assuming you know what we're here about."

Scott nodded. "Lydia's parents mentioned they were calling the FBI. I'd be happy to help you in any way I can, but I'm afraid you've wasted a trip out here. Lydia was attacked by an animal."

"Twice?" Murray asked.

"Yeah," Scott said. "Dangerous woods around here."

"You can say that again," Allison muttered.

"You sound awfully sure," Sanders said, taking out a pen and small notebook from her suit's inner pocket. She clicked the pen open and Allison saw Scott flinch slightly at its metallic glint. _Silver_, she thought. _Just our luck, we get the fancy FBI agents_. "Were you there either time she was attacked?"

"No," Scott answered.

Sanders nodded, jotting this down. "So why are you so sure?"

"The doctors said so the first time," Scott replied. "And the second time my boss, Dr. Deaton, is the one who found her. He's a vet. He said it was an animal attack. He'd know."

"And it doesn't strike you as being a little odd that she was attacked by animals twice in the space of three months?" Murray asked, just the slightest bit of sarcasm ringing in his voice – _enough to be insulting without being enough to be called on it,_ Allison thought.

Scott leaned forward. "Did you really come out to my house just to ask my opinion about how likely it is?" he asked.

Sanders looked up from her notebook. "No," she said. "No, we didn't. Are you and Lydia Martin romantically involved?"

Allison felt her neck stiffen at the thought. Scott managed to keep his composure. "No," he said.

"Have you been?"

"No. We're just good friends."

"Strange, at least one of your classmates remembers seeing Lydia kiss you several months ago."

Scott shifted in his chair. "That was one time," he said. "It was kind of a strange day."

"Lots of strange days around here," Sanders muttered. "Have you ever hit a woman, Scott?"

Scott leaned forward again. Under the table, out of sight of the agents, Allison saw Scott's claws sharpen. _Uh oh_. "Excuse me?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Simple question," Sanders said. "Have you ever hit a woman?"

"No," Scott said. "Never."

"But you get angry," Sanders said, not looking at him, jotting notes in her notebook in almost casual manner.

"Everyone gets angry from time to time," Scott said, gripping his own leg. "I've still never hit a woman. Do you think I had something do with what happened to Lydia?"

"You said it, not us," Murray said. "And notice how now you're saying, 'what happened to Lydia.' Not your best move, kid."

"Standard procedure in cases like these are to interview any family and significant others first," Sanders said, finally looking up, her eyes sharp as knives. "Boyfriends and girlfriends. Would you like to know what Jackson Whittemore had to say when we spoke to him earlier?"

Allison felt her blood run cold.

"He told us that he and Lydia broke up a little over three months ago, right before she was attacked. He told us that he hasn't had anything to do with her since, and then he told us that we should ask _you._

"So we did some digging. Turns out you've been exhibiting strange behavior for some time now – sudden bursts of aggression and strength, cutting school, grades falling from low to abysmal. Then, the same night Lydia Martin is attacked by animals, your mother is attacked as well, and she dies. And then, shortly thereafter, according to everyone in town, you and Lydia are like two sides of a coin, despite never having been very close before. And now Lydia Martin is in the hospital again, and you're the one who visits her obsessively. You can see the situation we're in here, Scott."

Scott took a moment to compose himself. His claws shrank back into his fingertips. "No, I can't," he said. "I'm having the worst year of my life, and Lydia and I were helping each other through it because we were both effected by what happened three months ago, and now she's hurt even worse and you're trying to make the fact that I _care_ sound like something bad."

"So what happened three months ago, Scott?" Murray asked. "Because the way you're wording it, it doesn't sound like a simple animal attack."

"It was – damn it, it was just an animal attack!" Scott said, his claws sharpening again. Allison could see his werewolf hair beginning to bristle under the surface and wondered, for a wild moment, what would happen if Scott transformed in front of the two FBI agents. "Why can't something that's horrible just be something that's horrible? Why does it _have_ to be something more?"

"Animal attacks are horrible things," Sanders agreed. "But that's not the point. It wasn't an animal attack that put Lydia in the hospital three months ago, and it wasn't an animal attack that put her there again this past weekend."

"We don't know what you have to do with it, Mr. Scott," Murray said. "But we know you do have something to do with it. And we're going to find out what."

Scott was breathing heavily and Allison could see how willpower it was taking for him to keep the transformation from coming. "I would like for you to leave my house now," he said.

"Or what?" Sanders asked, eying his heavy breathing. "Are you going to hurt us too?"

Allison saw her partner reaching subtly for his pistol. _Yeah, like that'd help_. She stepped forward. "The owner of this house just asked you to leave. Unless you have some warrant or whatever, you have to go, or we'll call the cops. The real ones."

Sanders and Murray exchanged another silent look, and then both of them pushed back from the table, standing up. "We'll see ourselves out," Sanders said. "But one thing you should understand. There isn't going to be anything realer than us."

They left. Allison heard the door shut and their car start, but when she turned to say something to Scott, he shushed her. He was panting heavily. A moment later, just as Allison was going out of her mind wondering what was going on, Scott suddenly burst out of his chair, an earsplitting roar escaping from his lips, and he picked up the chair he'd been sitting in and hurled with superhuman strength at the far wall of the kitchen, where it shattered into a hundred pieces. Scott had shifted fully into his Beta form. Before he could progress any further – he was eying the table with red-eyed malice – Allison stepped up to him, whispering to him that everything was going to be okay, to just calm down. She wrapped her arms around him and felt as his body shuddered violently. Slowly, painstakingly, he changed back to his human form; Allison could feel the extra hair recede against her cheek.

Before she pulled away, she heard him mutter, "Thank you."

When they were fully apart, they both turned to see Gunther standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "That didn't go well," Scott said, a shudder still in his voice.

Gunther shook his head. "Everyone's alive," he said. "All limbs accounted for. I'm gonna start calling every day what meets those requirements a good one. And, bonus, you didn't wolf out until after the creeps left."

Scott shook his head. "We haven't fallen that far, have we?"

Gunther shook his head. "All a matter of how you look at it, kid," he said. "You could look at that we've fallen that far. Or you could look at it that at least we have that much left. Your pick."

He turned and walked back into the living room, leaving Scott, still panting and shaking, and Allison, to mull over his words.


	19. Interview with the Werewolf

Author's Note: Okay, so maybe this chapter's title isn't _exactly_ accurate. But given the format I really couldn't help myself.

INTERVIEW WITH THE WEREWOLF

Case Notes, Agent Julia Sanders: _Arrived in Beacon Hills yesterday. Talked to the McCall boy and a young female we're assuming was Allison Argent. Lots of attitude between them; he's definitely pretending at calm, but there's a lot of anger just beneath the surface. I was a little surprised that he kept it in so well – he definitely has a lot of practice at restraining his emotions, obvious though they may be. This may make him a trial liability, and as a result we've decided to interview his friends first. Hopefully they'll give us everything we need._

***[]***

Interview One

Murray: So, you're Allison Argent. Gotta say, I liked the sass.

Sanders: It's fortuitous that we've already met. You were at the top of our list.

Allison: I was? I mean, I am?

Sanders: Yes. According to hospital records, you're one of several people to visit Lydia on both occasions that she's been in the hospital.

Allison: Yeah.

Sanders: Several of the hospital staff we've talked to described you as being disoriented the night of her first hospitalization. Would you care to describe that night?

Allison: I don't know. It was kind of a blur.

Murray: So paint us a blurry picture. I love modern art.

Sanders: As many facts as you can provide will be helpful. We're given to understand that night was a large dance at the school, yes?

Allison: Yes. A formal.

Sanders: And were you there with anyone?

Allison: Hmm? No. I mean, yes. I went with Jackson. Uh, Jackson Whittemore.

Murray: And how'd Scott feel about that?

Allison: What?

Murray: Well, you were kind of his girl, weren't you? I mean, I guess kids don't really use phrases like that anymore, but you know what I mean. You were his girlfriend. 'His' being the operative word.

Allison: I don't belong to anyone.

Murray: Good to hear. Still, humor me. How'd Scott feel about you going with Jackson.

Allison: He was fine with it.

Murray: Any reason he wasn't the one taking you? The pair of you seemed pretty comfy at the house yesterday.

Allison: You'd have to ask him.

Murray: I'm asking you.

Allison sighs audibly: He was on academic probation. His grades aren't always that great.

Murray: So he didn't make it to the dance? Bummer.

Audible pause

Sanders: Allison? Scott was at that dance anyway, wasn't he?

Allison: Yes.

Murray: So he was at a dance he was told not to go to. Uh oh.

Sanders: Can you account for his whereabouts when Lydia Martin was attacked? We've checked with staff and your classmates and no one seems to remember seeing where he was when Lydia was being attacked.

Allison: He was with me.

Murray: Oh, really? This is getting interesting.

Sanders: Cut it out, Murray. Listen, Allison, if you'd be more comfortable with Murray leaving, he can wait outside. However, we do need details about all of Scott's activities that night.

Allison: Uh. Like I said, he was with me.

Sanders: And what were you doing?

Allison: You know. Stuff. Just regular teenager stuff. Making out and everything.

Sanders: Where was this?

Allison: By the buses.

Sanders: Do you remember what happened next?

Allison: Yeah. My dad showed up. He got angry that we were, you know, making out. I left with him.

Sanders: Do you remember what time that was?

Allison: No. Sorry. Like I said, it's all kind of a blur.

Sanders: That's okay. I understand that it was a trying night. Seeing a friend like that and all.

Allison: Yeah.

Sanders: Would you say that you and Lydia are close friends?

Allison: Uh. Well.

Murray: Why the hesitation?

Allison: Well, we've had some pretty strong disagreements, but I still think of her as a friend. I care about her.

Murray: Kind of a roundabout way of answering the question, don't you think? What was the disagreement about?  
Allison: Uh.

Murray: Scott, huh?

Sanders: Do you think Lydia was jealous of your relationship with Scott?

Allison: No! No, never. Lydia and Scott think of each other as siblings.

Sanders: Siblings who have kissed on at least one occasion?

Allison: It was _just_ one occasion, and it was a long time ago.

Murray: No, I get it. Kind of a Luke and Leia thing.

Sanders: Please try to take this seriously, Murray.

Murray: No, I'm going somewhere with this. See, if they're Luke and Leia, you'd be Han Solo, right? You've seen Star Wars, right?

Allison: Yeah.

Murray: Except you can't be Han Solo, because Han Solo has Chewbacca, his best friend, aside from Leia, and as near as we can figure, Allison, you don't have any close friends aside from Scott. That must be tough.

Allison: I have friends!

Murray: Oh yeah? Like who?

Allison: Bridget and Declan. Uh, Bridget Amnisiade and Declan Kage. They've been staying with Scott.

Murray: And who are they?

Allison: Uh. Um. Relatives. I mean, I think Declan is Scott's cousin or something. Or their Dad knew Scott's mom. I don't really know.

Murray: Real close friends, huh?

Sanders: Allison, we're not trying to hurt you. We just need to establish perspective on this whole thing.

Allison: My perspective is just fine. Lydia was attacked by an animal, both times, and Scott had nothing to do with it. Both times.

Murray: And see, dear, our problem is that you just sounded more sure of that than any other answer you've given today, and it's the only answer that involves something you weren't actually there for.

Sanders: Thank you, Allison. That's going to be all for now. We'll be in touch if we need any additional answers.

Chair scrapes, door opens and shuts

Sanders: What do you think?

Murray: She's carrying a lot around. Seems guilty, which fits the profile; could be she knows that her boyfriend's been mauling people and it's gnawing at her conscience. In any case there's definitely more to both stories – the night of that dance and her relationship with Lydia Martin since then. By all reports she and Lydia were best friends before the dance, but whatever happened that night changed that completely. Can I ask you a question?

Sanders: Sure.

Murray: Why not ask her about Lydia's most recent attack? Lydia was supposed to be with Allison that night. I thought that was part of the game plan.

Sanders: She was starting to adapt. Unless I miss my guess, everyone we interview about this is going to try and protect Scott McCall. We'll only get what we need out of them if we can catch them off guard, and her guard was going up. So we put it off until she has time to lose her footing again.

Murray: Huh. Frosty.

Sanders: Takes a hefty dose of mental trauma to brainwash people like Allison into protecting people like Scott McCall. It might take a little more trauma to bring him to justice, but if we never get there then there won't be any hope for Allison, either. In the long run, it's for her own good.

Murray: Still. I'm going to start wearing my parka around you in case there's a breeze.

***[]***

Interview Two

Sanders: Mr. Stiliniski. Thank you for joining us.

Stiles: It's Stiles.

Murray: That's an odd name.

Stiles: You know, you're the first person who's ever pointed that out to me.

Murray: Geez. Just making conversation.

Sanders: Would you like to take a seat?

Stiles: Got plenty at home. Besides, these seats belong to the county sheriff's office. You should talk to my dad before you start giving them out.

Murray: Oh, I like this one already.

Sanders: Mr. Stilinski, we'd appreciate your full cooperation.

Stiles: Yeah. Of course.

Sanders: We're trying to reconstruct the night that Lydia Martin was attacked at the dance. We understand that you were her date.

Stiles: That's right.

Murray: Well done, buddy. Gotta say, on first glance, she looks a little out of your league.

Stiles: Everyone loves an underdog.

Murray: Funny, she doesn't seem the type to like an underdog at all.

Stiles: Laughter

Sanders: Something amusing?

Stiles: Nothing. Just the wording. Sorry, I'll be serious.

Sanders: Perhaps you can tell us a little bit about your part in what happened that night.

Stiles: There isn't much to tell. We went to the dance. She went out looking for Jackson. Next thing I knew, he was bringing her to the hospital. Say, maybe you should be talking to him.

Sanders: We have.

Stiles: Oh.

Sanders: Not only that, we pulled his phone records.

Stiles: Oh.

Sanders: Seems the last person he spoke with before discovering Lydia was you. As in, right before he discovered her.

Stiles: Uh. Yeah.

Sanders: Care to share what you two talked about?

Stiles: Well, it was nothing important. I don't really remember.

Murray: So there's no chance you were telling him where to find Lydia, to get her to the hospital?

Stiles: No. I mean, how would I have known where she was? Why wouldn't I have just taken her?

Sanders: Why indeed. Can you account for where you were when Lydia was attacked?

Stiles: Uh. Still at the dance.

Murray: Of course. Waiting for the hot date to continue. Except – whoops, we talked to a couple of your classmates, and they're under the impression that you left the dance right around the time she was attacked.

Momentary silence

Sanders: And then you show up at the hospital to see Lydia later that night – we pulled the surveillance tapes from that night – but there's still a massive gap between when you left the dance and when you showed up at the hospital. Care to share where you were during that lost time?

Stiles: I...

Sanders: Look, Stiles, we're not accusing you of anything. We just need you to tell us what Scott did.

Stiles: What?

Murray: It's pretty obvious. Something happened between him and Lydia, and Lydia got hurt. You called Jackson to get Lydia to the hospital, because she's your girl and you care, but you stuck with Scott, helped him get away from the scene. Once he was out of harms way you went to check on her, make sure she was okay.

Stiles: That's not what happened at all.

Sanders: Stiles, I told you, we pulled the surveillance tapes. All of them. We know you and Scott went back to the hospital later that night and snuck into Lydia's room.

Momentary silence

Sanders: Had he calmed down? Did he tell you that he wanted to make sure she was okay, too? It's okay, Stiles.

Stiles: You're twisting it all around. It didn't happen like that at all.

Murray: Hey, man, it's okay. Like we said, we're not accusing you of anything. Honestly, if not for you, she'd probably have died that night. You're a hero. We know it's hard being a hero, and you feel like you need to be loyal to your friend. But you have to ask yourself – if he can do all that to her, is he really your friend? He's not like you, Stiles.

Stiles: Would you quit it! I told you, that's not what happened that night!

Sanders: Mr. Stilinski, please sit and calm down. We didn't mean to upset you.

Stiles: Yeah you did! You're playing that whole calming-voice, goading-on game! I watch _Law and Order_ too, you know!

Sanders: Then perhaps you'd care to tell us what _did_ happen.

Stiles After another slight pause: Lydia was attacked by an animal. Scott had nothing to do with it.

Murray: You sound as sure as his girlfriend did. But neither one of you can account for where he was when Lydia was attacked. And now you can't tell us where you were, either.

Sanders: Stiles, there's something you need to understand. We meant it when we said we're not coming after you, but if you stand by Scott and it turns out he did something to her, you could go down, too. Unless you help us.

Stiles: That sounds like a threat.

Murray: Just the way it is, kid.

Stiles: I thought this was just about gathering information?

Sanders: It is. We're just trying to honest with you about which direction the information is leading us in.

Stiles: Well, I think I'll need a lawyer if you want to be any more honest.

***[]***

Interview Three

Murray: Tell me again why we're interviewing these two together?

Sanders: Thought I sensed some friction. Nothing like brothers at each others' throats to let something drop.

Door opens

Sanders: Come in, gentleman. It's Declan and Curtis, right?

Curtis: Actually, I'm Curtis. He's Declan.

Sanders: Sorry. That really bothered you, didn't it?

Curtis: Reckon I got no reason to be upset with you, darling.

Murray: You're not from around here?

Declan: Ignore his accent. It isn't real.

Curtis: What'd you know?

Sanders: Please settle down, gentleman. It's okay.

Curtis: So, what'd you want to know?

Sanders: Well, according to everyone we've spoken with, you two didn't arrive until after Lydia Martin was attacked the first time.

Declan: That's right, ma'am.

Murray: And you are friends of the McCalls?

Curtis: Our dad knew the old lady years ago or something. We didn't know 'em too good.

Murray: So you're just in town for – what, grieving?

Curtis: Sure, I guess.

Murray: You don't seem to be grieving at all.

Curtis: Whatever. It's the old man's gig, not ours.

Declan: We try to be respectful, but we didn't actually know Scott's mom.

Sanders: But you know Scott now?

Curtis: Snorts

Sanders: What was that?

Curtis: Huh? Nothing. Guess we know 'em. Live in his house now, don't we?

Sanders: Yes, about that. Awfully nice of him to take you in, you all being strangers to him and all.

Curtis snorts again: Yeah, he's a peach.

Declan: It was real nice of him. We just came to town to pay our respects, but dad's between jobs – he does a lot of independent contracting and such – and we always moved around a lot, so Scott offered to let us stay.

Sanders: And the Amnisiade sisters?

Declan: Sorry?

Sanders: Sophie and Bridget Amnisiade. And Lavinia Mintarus. They're also new to the McCall house, as I understand it.

Declan: Yeah, about them...

Curtis: They're our sisters.

Murray: Son, what your brother was getting up to in the back of that car with one of them wasn't the sort of thing brothers and sisters do.

Curtis: They're adopted. Sometimes I think my brother is too.

Declan: Look, what does all this have to do with what's going on?

Sanders: We're just trying to get some background on you. You have a unique perspective on Scott McCall. Everyone else we've talked to has either been dating him or known him for years. Neither of you fall into either of those categories.

Declan: Why don't you tell us what you want to know?

Murray: Mostly we just want to get your opinion of him.

Declan: Uh. Well, he's a good guy.

Curtis: Little testy sometimes. You probably noticed.

Declan Hushed: Curtis!

Curtis: What?

Declan: You're just saying that to make him look bad!

Curtis: Nah.

Sanders: Look bad how?

Declan: Look, we know you got this crazy idea that Scott hurt Lydia. That's not the case. He wouldn't do that.

Curtis Audible sigh: Yeah, he's got a point. McCall wouldn't hurt _her_.

Murray: He wouldn't hurt _her_? Are you implying he would hurt someone else?

Curtis: Dunno. Maybe you should ask him. He's pretty convinced he wouldn't, but I'm not so convinced.

Declan: Curtis!

Sanders: Let your brother speak.

Curtis: Guy's got anger issues, you know? Like I said, he's testy.

Declan: Everybody gets angry sometimes. You'd be angry if people were accusing you of hurting someone you cared about, too. I mean, that's if you actually cared about anyone, Curtis.

Curtis: What's that supposed to mean?

Declan: You know what it means. You're colder than snowfall, _brother_.

Sanders: Gentleman, please. I think that'll be all for today. Thank you for your cooperation.

Chair scrapes, door opens and closes

Sanders: Curtis? Do you have something else to add?

Curtis: About McCall? Nah. Just wanted to let you know that if you get lonely, I'm excellent company. Especially at night.

Murray: You can leave now, kid. Really.

Curtis: Think about it.

Chair scrapes, door opens and closes

Sanders: Well, what was that about?

Murray: He was hitting on you, Julia. I mean, it shouldn't surprise you _that_ much.

Sanders: Not that. The bit about Scott not hurting Lydia, but maybe hurting someone else.

Murray: Yeah, that was a little weird.

Case Notes, Agent Julia Sanders: _I'm a little stumped. Their stories are cracking like eggs, faster than anticipated, but none of them are breaking down. The closest we've come is with Curtis Kage, and he's so far exhibited more borderline sociopathic behavior than McCall himself has. I was _convinced_ that Stiles Stilinski was going to be our way in – the kid is clearly carrying a heavy load around with him, but even though he's definitely lying, it doesn't feel like he's covering for McCall. We're starting to reevaluate our prime suspect, but even if McCall didn't actually attack Lydia himself, he and his friends are still keeping things from us. We've decided to discontinue interviews for now and begin tailing them at intervals to see if we can catch a stray word in an off-guard moment._

***[]***

Author's Note: About the interview with Stiles above – the FBI agents state that Stiles calls Jackson just before Jackson pulls Lydia out of the field. This is stated because, by my recollection of the episode, Peter lets Stiles call someone to rescue Lydia because Peter is bringing Stiles along to hack Scott's phone and won't let Stiles do it himself. On further review in my mind I don't actually know that that's how it went down, and I don't have a copy of the episode to review. If I happen to be wrong I'm going to beg a momentary suspension of canon to allow for this.

Also, yes, this was a short chapter – just setting up the next chapter, which hopefully will be along shortly. As always, drop a review and let me know what you think.


	20. Best Laid Plans

BEST LAID PLANS...

"We all clear on how this is going to work?" Gunther asked.

Scott, Gunther, Declan, Curtis, Chris, Kate, Allison, Bridget, Sophie, Nia, and Stiles were all gathered at the animal clinic with Deaton, about a week after the interviews with the pair of FBI agents, which hadn't had positive impacts on any of them. Allison and Stiles had both gotten, if possible, quieter and more subdued, and Declan and Curtis had come to blows twice. Gunther and Scott had agreed, discreetly, that they needed to put their plan where Bealstock was concerned into motion sooner rather than later so they could put more energy into dealing with the FBI.

Stiles, sitting on one of the counters, shook his head. "Yeah," he muttered. "We don't have a plan so much as a couple of loose guidelines."

"Simple plans," Gunther said, looking at the young man on the counter, who kept his head down and didn't meet the older hunter's gaze. "Like I said, more of a chance for success with simpler plans."

"This isn't a plan, Dad," Declan said. "It's Scott wandering around alone in the forest on the off-chance that something that wants to kill him finds him."

Curtis laughed. Scott had noticed that the older boy's harsh streak seemed to have doubled in the past week. "When you put it that way, _brother_, it sounds a whole lot better."

Declan, to everyone's surprise, matched his brother's vitriol. "I told you to stop calling me that."

Curtis shook his head. "Shouldn't be too much of a problem."

"Boys, please," Gunther said. "A little restraint right now would be appreciated."

Declan and Curtis shot each other angry looks. "Whatever," Curtis muttered.

"Declan, I appreciate your concern," Scott said, shooting an annoyed look at Curtis. "But short of sitting and waiting for Bealstock to show up again, we've got nothing. And there's no guarantee he'll show up where I am. He might go after Nia or Sophie or Bridget next."

Scott noted the brief look of concern that Declan shot at Bridget. Scott had tried to be discreet about Declan and Bridget sneaking off alone together over the past week, but between super-hearing and super-smell, the two of them couldn't really keep much from him. He'd thought about asking Declan how things were going, but the timing never seemed right.

Especially since Allison always seemed to be around whenever he thought to ask.

Gunther was speaking again. "Scott, this plan's mostly on you."  
Scott nodded. "Don't worry," he said. "After what that thing did to Lydia, I'm one hundred percent on board."

Gunther nodded as well. "Just don't let all that anger get the better of you," he said. "Bealstock's still stronger and faster than you. You're going to have to think like we do. Use subtlety."

Scott cast a glance around, catching both Curtis and Kate in it as he did, and just barely managed to suppress a snort. "I know," he said. "I've got the radio transmitter. You guys just be ready to show up once I've bitten him." He glanced out the window, where the sun was setting. "Guess I should get going."

Scott nodded all around at his assembled friends and made for the door. Once he was outside he headed toward the forest, but his ears caught the door opening and closing again and he stopped, turned, and saw Allison standing there, not saying anything. _Not that she needs to, to get my attention_, he thought. _She knows that I could hear that door from a mile away._ "I'm going to be okay," he said, not meeting her gaze.

"I know," she said.

"Then why...?" Scott began, but Allison cut him off by walking up to him and pressing her lips firmly against his.

"That's why," Allison said, pulling back. "You can save all your 'no distraction' talk for when you're not about to go do something ridiculously dangerous. I love you and this is me telling you that you're coming home to me. Understand?"

Scott couldn't help but grin. "Yes, ma'am," he said. Then he quirked an eyebrow at Allison. "So, uh, any idea if they turned on the transmitter yet?"

Allison nodded. "Probably," she said.

"So they just heard all that?"

"Yeah."

"Great," Scott said, running his hand through his hair. "Nothing like a little embarrassment to get you ready to go find the guy who beat you up."

"I don't care about them right now," Allison said, reaching up and stroking Scott's face. "I'm serious."

Scott covered her hand with his own. "I know," he said. "I love you too. I'll be fine." He bent and kissed her again, letting his hands trail down her back, the sensations he hadn't let himself express for the last week flaring for a moment. When he pulled back, he lifted his shirt collar closer to his mouth, to amplify his voice through the transmitter. "If you're all listening, you're a bunch of voyeuristic jerks."

Through the building Scott heard Curtis say, "Eat me."

Scott turned his attention back to Allison, giving her one last quick kiss before turning and heading toward the forest. "Everything's going to be fine," he said, over his shoulder. "I promise."

***[]***

When Allison got back into the clinic, she could feel everyone trying not to look at her. Except Kate and Curtis, who both let out low cat calls. "Damn, that was _hot_," Curtis said. "What do I have to do to get a send-off like that? Growl a little?"

Before Allison could retort, Chris stepped in front of Curtis. "Curtis, I don't know if you're aware of this, but I'm still a little on edge myself about everything that's been happening lately," he said, his voice relatively even. "It would be in your best interest to not give me an excuse to take that out on you."

"Since when are you cool with what they're getting up to?" Curtis asked. "Thought you called her a slut or whatever a while back over it, didn't you?"

"For Christ sake, Curtis, shut up," Gunther said, putting his shotgun down on Deaton's examining table. "I swear, that mouth of yours is going to get you into a world of trouble one of these days."

Curtis looked like he was going to say something else for a moment, but then the moment passed and he shrugged and sulked off into a corner+. Allison felt her hand trail off the hilt of her collapsible bow – she hadn't even been aware that she'd reached for her weapon. _Great, now I'm going for the violent approach without even thinking about it_, she thought. She wandered over to sit down next to the speakers, where she could hear the crunch of Scott's shoes on the leaves and twigs in the forest.

Kate joined her, which elicited a low groan from Allison. "I didn't think it was particularly hot," she said, sitting in the chair next to Allison.

"Sorry to disappoint," Allison said.

"Mostly, it was just pathetic," Kate continued. "Never had you pegged for pathetic, Allison."

"Funny, I had you pegged for pathetic months before I saw you in a blubbering pile in Scott's house last week."

Kate sneered, her eyes glinting with more than a little madness. "Just a little voodoo from witch number three over there," she said, nodding at Nia, who was bundled up in about three layers of black clothing, her hair almost completely covering her face. "There'll be retribution."

Allison laughed. "Not so fast," she said. "Nia's power inspires revelation through divine madness. While everyone else was busy figuring things out they couldn't have figured out on their own, you were busy sobbing your eyes out. So one has to wonder – what did dear Aunt Kate figure out about herself?"

"I said, it's nothing," Kate hissed.

"Right, sure sounds like nothing," Allison replied. She forcibly caught her aunt's gaze. "One of these days, I'm going to figure out what's really going on with you. That's a promise."

For the briefest of seconds, Kate looked both vulnerable and terrified, but then she pushed her chair back abruptly and walked over to the other side of the room. Allison followed her trek across the room to see that her father had been watching the whole exchange. After a second, he walked over. _Oh, great._

He pulled the seat Kate had been occupying back to be right next to Allison and sat down. "You really shouldn't bait your aunt like that," he said.

"Why?" Allison asked, her blood still hot from the angry conversation with Kate. "Afraid she'll try something?"

"Partly that," Chris said. "Partly that what did happen – whatever did happen – it hurt her a lot, more than she's ever been able to admit to anyone, even herself. You shouldn't pick on her for that."

Allison sighed, feeling a lot of the anger flow out of her chest at her father's words. "You're right," she said, slumping in her own chair slightly. She glanced at the speakers – still a steady stream of snapping twigs and crunching leaves – before continuing. "She just gets under my skin so easy. It's like it's so important to her that I be just like her."

"Maybe it is," Chris said. "Whatever happened to Kate ten years ago, I think it left her lonely, more than anything."

"I'm not her," Allison said. "I couldn't be like her if I tried."

"I know, honey," Chris said. "Don't ever tell her I said this, but you're stronger than she is."

Allison spared a glance at her father. "You're being awfully nice," she observed.

Chris sighed. "Kage's older son may be a pain in the ass, but he's not wrong," he said. "I said somethings to you that I...regret."

Allison smiled. "That almost sounded like an apology."

Chris smiled back. "You've got your mother's fire," he said. "Never settling for less, in anything. I'm sorry, Allison. The things I said – I've always wanted to keep you safe, above all else, but none of that justifies what I said to you. I hope that someday you can forgive me."

Allison turned to look her father squarely in the eye. "Why'd you do it?" she asked. "Say those things, I mean?"

Chris shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Like I said, I want to protect you, but I feel less and less like I can do that these days. I suppose I was just feeling powerless, you know?"

Allison smiled again, this time with genuine feeling. "I know exactly what you mean, actually." Tentatively, she reached over to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "It's okay. You're not _powerless_. I want your opinion, but I need you to be more open-minded about Scott."

"I guess that's the funny part," Chris said. "What I realized on the full moon, that is. Didn't let myself process it right away because I didn't really like it, but I think I've spent enough time ignoring the truth for one lifetime."

Allison picked her head up off her father's shoulder to look in the eye again. "What do you mean?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "I realized that I didn't have anything against Scott, really," he said. "He kind of reminds me of myself in a few ways. He's a good boy, and I always knew that you growing up and getting involved with boys was going to be inevitable, and since it was inevitable, I'd always wanted you to find a decent boy. And, at the end of the day, I believe that Scott is just that, a decent boy. I hated him for what he is, not who he is, and that's not only wrong, it's stupid."

Allison felt tears welling on the corners of her eyes. "Daddy," she said.

Before she could continue, Chris pulled her head back down onto his shoulder. "I know," he said, stroking her hair lightly as the first of her happy tears fell onto his shirtsleave. "From now on, I'm going to be the father you need me to be. _That_ I promise _you_."

***[]***

Across the room, Declan had settled back against one of the walls, staring at the wall opposite blankly, waiting for something to happen. He must have looked calm because when Bridget wandered over she chuckled nervously. "Not really afraid of much, are you?"

Declan felt his gaze shift lazily onto his brunette companion. _Yup, looking at her's definitely a lot better than looking at the wall_, Declan thought, taking in the form-fitting jeans and t-shirt. Bridget was slender, but not skinny the way her twin sister was; _she looks healthy_, Declan decided. _Healthy and vibrant and oh-so-squeezable_. "Sure, I'm afraid of some things," he said. "Bed head. Dandelions. Waking up without you beside me."

Bridget blushed. "You are _such_ a flatterer," she said. "But come on, be serious. Scott's out there facing real danger."

Declan nodded. "Yeah, figure he is," he said. When Bridget looked scandalized, Declan held up his hands. "Right, this is your first rodeo, isn't it?"

Bridget shook her head. "I just don't understand how you're so calm," she said.

Declan gave her a wry smile. "You're really not doing too bad yourself," he observed. "Anyway, the calm comes with time and practice. Do this sort of thing enough and it starts coming natural. Truth is, at this stage, there's nothing we can do except wait and be ready for the time when there is something we can do. So we wait."

Bridget shook her head again. "We'd better not be doing this too often," she said.

Declan inclined his eyebrows. "Guess that's the question, isn't it?"

Bridget's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Declan sighed, pulled his gun out from his waistband, and pulled the slide back to check the chamber. All clear, of course. "This is what Curtis and I do," he said, replacing the gun in his waistband. "Gunther – uh, _father_, you know – he's not the only one who moves around a lot. This stretch we've been doing here in Beacon Hills is the longest we've been in one place since Curtis and I were kids. I figure once this Bealstock business is done, he'll want to move on."

Bridget's brow furrowed further. "Move on where?"

"Dunno," Declan responded. "Wherever there's need. We've spent most of the last few years just riding around, looking for trouble, finding it all too easy. He'll probably want to get back to that."

"And you'll go with him."

Declan sighed. "If you'd asked me that a month or two ago, I'd have said yes without thinking about it," he said. "But the thing about life on the road with Curtis was we never talked much, didn't really get to know each other, you know? And we spent all our personal time apart. I knew he was a little mean and that he liked to chase women and that was about it. The last few weeks I've gotten to see a whole different side of him and I can't say I like it much."

Bridget nodded in silent agreement.

Declan grinned mischievously. "And I've gotten to see a few sides of you," he continued, illiciting another blush from the nymph. "Those I've liked. And I feel like I've got friends here, and school's not so bad compared with fighting all the shit that goes bump in the night. I don't know I want to leave."

Bridget nodded. "I know what you mean," she said. "Nia, Sophie and I had a caretaker in our old town. Batty old lady, didn't have a clue what was going on with us, but she was relatively kind and helped keep up appearances that we were normal girls, albeit in a somewhat abnormal situation. I do not think that any of us particularly want to go back there once all this is through."

"Guess it comes down to when Scott kicks us out," Declan said, with a chuckle. He pulled Bridget to him gently, resting her head against his chest. "Maybe he'll let us stay afterward, on account of me saving his life in the basement the other day."

Bridget laughed, too. "Maybe we'll get the penthouse."

"Our own room sounds nice," Declan said. "You know, make that 'waking up next to you' thing a reality." He pulled Bridget back far enough to look into her eyes. "No matter what happens, this thing between us, I want to see where it goes more'n anything. You understand that, right?"

Bridget responded by standing up on her tip-toes to kiss Declan lightly on the lips.

She pulled back slightly when she heard light, mocking clapping behind them. Declan's lip curled. Curtis was standing a few feet away, an angry look on his face. "Bravo, brother," he said. "Reckon you've got this one tied up real good."

"Would you quit it with the accent already?" Declan asked. "We all know it's fake. We've only been to the South a couple of times and both times were to kill something, not to pick up the local flavor."

Curtis' face twisted into an angry grin. "I always pick up the local flavor, little brother," he said. "Couldn't figure on why you didn't. Guess our little _sister_ here could straighten out what you were so afraid of all those times. Performance issues, Bridget?"

"None whatsoever," Bridget spit back at Curtis. "And for your information, Declan and I are almost exactly the same age, so you can strike the 'little' from that last sentence."

"Oh, _good_, you're almost exactly the same age. Maybe he's your third twin or something. That'd be just wonderful."

"Third twin?" Bridget asked. "You mean triplet?"

"Whatever," Curtis said. "You know what I meant. I mean, brother," he said, turning his gaze on Declan. "It's not like I don't get it. She's plenty hot, and the whole 'nymphs are made for sex' thing must make her an absolute demon in the sack. But come on. You go out to bag a chick for the first time and not only is she your sister, she's not even human. And you think I'm sick."

Declan was reaching for his gun again, although this time not to just check it over. "You son of a - "

"Enough," a voice from beside them said. Declan and Curtis both looked around at their father, who was standing, arms folded, looking severely at both of them. "I taught you better than this. You don't prepare for a fight by fighting, especially not with each other. Whatever this shit is between you, stow it, or it's going to get someone killed."

"Yes, sir," both of the boys muttered, in unison.

Gunther looked between the two of them, clearly frustrated. "Curtis, why don't you check in with the doctor," he said, although his eyes were still on Declan.

"Check in with him for what?" Curtis asked.

"For whatever he's got," Gunther replied, a light spray of acid in his voice. "Make sure you're real thorough." Curtis walked away, shaking his head, toward the other end of the long room. Gunther turned his attention back to Declan and Bridget. His face looked tight. _Great_, Declan thought. _This is bound to be fun._ "Look, you two," Gunther said, a little slowly. "I've been meaning to talk to both of you."

Bridget shot Declan a nervous look. "What about?" she asked.

"Come on, honey," Gunther replied, looking agitated. "You know what about."

Bridget blushed, avoided Gunther's eyes. "This isn't the kind of thing a girl typically likes to discuss with her father."

Gunther avoided her eyes right back, fixing them on some unknown speck on the floor. "I know," he said. "And I wish there was a more, you know, suitable lady role model for you or something, but I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Anyway, we all need to talk about, well, this."

Declan folded his arms over his chest. "What do we need to talk about?"

Gunther's face fell back into a frustrated glower. "Oh, gee, I don't know, Declan," he said. "Maybe it has something to do with the fact that what you're doing is dangerous, especially to you. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that it's your _sister_ you've been...you've been _with_. I don't know though, neither of those things seem too terrible important to you."

Declan felt heat rising in his face. "So much for not fighting before a fight, huh?"

Some of the rancor drained out of Gunther's face, leaving the old hunter looking lined and tired. "I'm sorry, son," he said. "You know I don't mean to hurt either of you. Fact is I just want to see you happy and safe. And, yeah, I get that you're both happy with everything you've been getting up to – it's not like you've been very subtle about it – but that could change in a mighty hurry if something happens."

"If something happens?" Declan asked, passively.

"Damn it, boy, don't make me spell it out," Gunther hissed. Out of the corner of his eye, Declan observed Bridget going for a world record in blushing. "I know that there's some things we thought we knew that need revisiting, but that don't change the fact that what you're doing is _dangerous_. You've never seen what nymphs are capable of - "

"Yes, I have," Declan said, quietly. He was aware of Bridget's head turning sharply but he kept his eyes pointedly averted.

"What?" Gunther asked, as though he hadn't heard.

"Yes, I have seen what nymphs are capable of," Declan said. "Curtis and I came up against one about eight months back. You were off in, I don't know, California or something. This nymph had been killing the bejesus out of this little town in New Mexico. When Curtis and I showed up, it came after us. I killed it. I killed _her_."

Gunther, for once, looked completely thrown. "I don't remember your brother mentioning that," he said.

Declan shook his head. "Curtis only likes talking about the hunts where he kills something," he said. "This one probably slipped his mind."

"I - " Gunther began, but then stopped, faltering. "I don't know what to say. You've seen how bad it can get and you're still, you know, doing this?"

"Doing this?" Declan asked, feeling the heat rise in his face again. "Is that what we're gonna call this, _Dad_? 'Doing this?' I suppose saying, 'doing her' would be too vulgar for you. Or is it too humanizing? You have to say 'this' or 'it' to feel okay?"

Gunther shook his head. "I didn't say that, son," he said, quietly.

"You don't have to," Declan said. "It's written all over your face. God, I _knew_ that you were going to disapprove of me and Bridget, but I didn't honestly think I'd care. But the thing of it is, _she _cares what you think, _she_ cares how you feel, and now that means I care, too. So yeah – you can show me some respect since I know full well how bad things could get, and you can show her some respect because she's supposed to be your goddamn daughter and you're supposed to care about her."

A flush of anger rose in Gunther's face. "Now see here - "

"No, you see here," Declan interrupted, his own face flushed. "You had another _family._ You could have at least _told_ us about them. Curtis don't care, it's not like he cares about anyone, really. But me? I'd have liked to have known. Maybe it would have been nice to have somebody in my life sooner than this. Maybe it would have been nice to have a family."

Gunther looked like he'd been punched. "That doesn't got nothing to do with this."

"Sure it does," Declan said, breathing heavily. "'Cause now you're going to try and dictate to us what's right and wrong, what's okay and not okay, and I figure that's not really your call. You lost that right. So don't judge us. Be happy for us that we're happy together. For that matter, be happy that we weren't so scared that we didn't try. But that's it. Got it?"

Gunther took a step back and folded his arms. He let Declan breathe heavily for a minute before responding. "Finished?"

Declan breathed out, adrenaline pumping through him. "Yeah," he said.

Gunther nodded. "I figure the pair of you are old enough to make these kinds of decisions for yourselves," he said, evenly. _He's definitely still angry, but he's hold it in. Maybe I hit a nerve._ "Just remember I told you to be careful." He turned and walked away.

Declan watching his father go, mulling over the words. _Guess maybe he thought the whole ominous warning thing might scare me_, he thought. _Pfft. Fat chance._ He heard a rustle by his side and became aware of Bridget shifting uncomfortably. He squeezed his eyes briefly. _Okay, now I really don't want to have this conversation, either._ He turned to Bridget. Her eyes were huge and round. "Go ahead and ask."

"You killed a nymph?" she asked, her voice small and scared.

"Yeah," Declan said. "Came at me with a knife. Must have thought the pheromone thing had already knocked me out. Truth is I never felt a thing. I pulled my gun and put a bullet in her head. She was probably in her mid twenties, it was tough to tell. I'll tell you this – she hated me. You could see it in her eyes, just pure, complete hate. Thinking back on it," he said, scratching the back of his head and hoping to find some kind of forgiveness in his girlfriend's eyes, "I kind of wish I could have found out why she hated me so much."

Bridget shook her head lightly. "I guess you'll never know." She sounded far away.

Declan gripped her shoulders. "Not too hard to guess," he said. "I was a hunter. Hunters probably killed the rest of her family. Christ, Bridget, she could have been your older sister or your aunt or something. And I _killed_ her. Do you understand that?"

"No," Bridget admitted. "It's not something that really makes sense to me. I've never seen you in a fight. You're so – gentle. It doesn't make sense."

Declan laughed, a harsh sound. "Yeah," he said. "Guess I'm not everything you thought I was. Or maybe I'm just something other than what you thought I was. I don't know."

Bridget finally looked up into Declan's eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I don't know," Declan repeated, looking away. "Just, I don't feel particularly like I deserve you right now."

Bridget laughed lightly. "Despite that little speech you just gave father?"

"He deserved that, but it ain't the point now."

"I guess not," Bridget said, looking away. A second later, Declan felt her muscles tense and she looked back at him. "Would you kill me?"

"What?" Declan asked. He was so taken aback by the question that he actually physically pushed Bridget away from himself. "No. Never. How could you ask that?"

"It's a serious question," she replied. "If I lost it – went into a trance and tried to kill you – would you kill me?"

"No," Declan said, firmly. "I'd find a way."

Bridget shook her head. "You might not be able to find a way," she said. "We don't really know how these trances work. What if you can't knock me out? What if I'm stronger when I'm like that? What if you don't have a choice?"

"Then I'd die," Declan said. He pulled his gun out of his waistband again. For the first time the weapon felt unbearably heavy. "I'm sick of all this. I'm sick of killing. If it comes down to it – if I have to pick your life or mine to keep going – I pick yours."

Bridget shook her head. "That's crazy. You'd pick a murderous thing to keep living over your own life?"

"Stop that," Declan said. "You're not a murderous thing. If something happens, something happens, but whatever it is, it'd be out of your control. You are a wonderful, caring, beautiful person, and the world needs people like you. It don't – it don't really need people like me, or at any rate it don't need _more_ people like me."

"This is all so insane," Bridget muttered. She was breathing heavily and her eyes were as big as pie plates.

"Listen to me," Declan said, catching hold of Bridget's shoulders again. The frightened, overwhelmed nymph looked back into his eyes, which were suddenly blazing with determination. "Here's why I do what I do – to protect people. Sometimes that's as easy as seeing a monster and putting a bullet in it, but not always. I figure you're worth protecting, because even if you got something bad inside, something makes you do bad things, you're still a good person, and if anyone can figure out a way to get control of what you got inside it'd be you. And it'd be worth my life for you to figure out how to do that so you can tell other nymphs how to do it. I'm willing to protect people with my life by fighting, so I'm willing to protect you with my life by not fighting, if it comes down to it. Understand?"

There were tears in her eyes. "I don't want you to die."

Declan felt tears in his own eyes. "Shit, hon, I don't want to die," he said, pulling her back against him. He felt her latch on and hug him fiercely. "Never said I did. Doing this is about being willing to, not about wanting to. Different things."

Bridget sniffled against his chest. "This has been a crazy night."

Declan was about to respond, running a hand through Bridget's hair, when Allison stood up sharply. "There's other voices on the radio," she said.

"And it's about to get crazier," Declan said, pulling out of Bridget's embrace but keeping hold of her hand as he crossed the room toward the radio receiver to find out what was going on.

***[]***

"You need to get out of here," Scott pleaded. He looked all around, hoping that the others had heard him drop a hint about how far through the woods he'd gotten. If they didn't arrive quickly then this could get messy.

"Why's that, Scott?" Agent Sanders asked. She had a gun leveled at him.

"It's just not okay for you to be out here," he said, still looking around wildly. "It isn't safe."

"We're just fine, Scott," Agent Murray replied. He also had a gun out. "I think we're plenty safe from you right now."

Scott closed his eyes, focusing his ears. He could hear footfalls, but they were a _long_ way off. "It's not me you have to worry about."

"Then who is it, Scott?" Agent Sanders asked, a note of demanding curiosity in her voice. She lowered her gun partially so that it wasn't pointed straight at Scott. "Who do we have to be afraid of?"

"Not who," Scott said. "Damn it, we have to get you out of here."

"Scott, what the hell is going on here?" Agent Sanders asked.

"_Did wolfy bring Bealstock a present?_"

_Oh, shit_.

Bealstock walked so slowly into sight through the trees that at first only Scott saw him. After a second of standing with its eyes glowing brightly though, both FBI agents noticed it and swung their guns around to point at it. "What the hell?" Murray asked. "Is that a professional wrestler or a reject from a heavy metal concert?"

"Guys, get here quick," Scott said quietly to himself.

"_These two are not good for Bealstock_," Bealstock said, sniffing loudly. "_Why does wolfy bring them here? Perhaps they are here to hurt wolfy? Bealstock doesn't appreciate that._"

"No, Bealstock!" Scott said, raising his hands as the creature took a single menacing step toward the agents. "They're not here to hurt either of us. They're just going, as a matter of fact. I came to join you, but you have to let these two go, okay?"

Bealstock turned his gaze on Scott. His too-wide, perpetual smile got wider. "_Bealstock doesn't have to do anything_," it said.

The two FBI agents were busy being wide-eyed through his whole exchange. "Look, pal, I don't know who you are, but you and the kid can both freeze," Murray said. He cocked the hammer on his pistol. "We're the ones with the guns, in case you didn't notice."

Bealstock's gaze turned back to the FBI agents, settling on Murray. "_Bealstock has no need of you,_" it said. "_You can leave the wolfy or you can die._"

"That's it," Murray said, lowering his gun and starting toward Bealstock, reaching into his coat for a pair of zip-tie cuffs. "We're federal agents, friend. You're going up on charges of threatening law enforcement officials. And if you try anything, we're going to shoot you."

Bealstock's gaze wavered to Scott for just a moment. "_Are they threatening Bealstock?_" it asked, before plunging forward faster than the eye can normally track, hitting Murray like a runaway train and sending him flying.

Several things happened at once. Despite obviously being shocked with Bealstock's speed and strength, Agent Sanders squeezed off a pair of shots that hit Bealstock at point blank range. The only effect the shots had were to divert Bealstock's attention from the fallen and dazed Murray to Agent Sanders. The creature grinned wider at her and was about to charge her when Scott, transformed into his Beta form, hit it from the side, deflecting it just enough to miss the startled FBI agent.

Growling, Scott tried to sink his fangs into the exposed skin of Bealstock's arm, but the creature shifted focus too fast, throwing Scott away from itself even as it continued to tumble away from Agent Sanders. Scott flew off Bealstock, hitting a tree and shattering it, even as Bealstock hit ground itself, skidding to a stop at the base of another tree. Agent Sanders recovered enough to fire another pair of shots at Bealstock, hitting it in the back. Again, the bullets seemed to have no physical effect on the creature; however it did roll over and pop back onto its feet, even as Scott was still getting his vision to clear at the base of his own destroyed tree. Bealstock surveyed the dazed werewolf and the young woman with the gun and did something new – it snarled.

Before it could move toward either of them, though, an arrow came sailing through the trees to land in its chest, burrowing through its flesh to poke three inches out of its back. Bealstock snarled again and grasped the silver shaft of the arrow, yanking it from its own body. Through the trees Scott saw Allison already drawing another arrow back. Bealstock must have seen too because it drew back the arrow it had just pulled out of its own body and, before Scott could do anything else, it hurled it at Allison. Scott saw the arrow graze Allison's cheek, saw her crumble to the forest floor, and then saw nothing but red.

***[]***

Declan and the other hunters were right behind Allison when she fell. The arrow had just missed braining the young woman; as it was it just drew a slight red line across her cheek and knocked her over, sailing past to stick into a tree a few feet behind them. A second later, Declan heard a gigantic roar, one which he'd heard before, only never this angry.

Scott, a few dozen yards in front of them, had shifted all the way into his Alpha form, tearing through his clothing. He leaped at Bealstock, hitting the creature while its attention was still on Allison. The pair of them rolled along the forest floor, gnashing and tearing at each other. Declan stopped to stoop next to Allison, but he felt Gunther's hand on his shoulder immediately. "No time, son," he said.

He felt Bridget's hand on his other shoulder. "Go," she said, quietly. "I'll make sure she's okay."

Declan nodded and followed his father, brother, Chris and Kate toward where the Alpha and the creature were still rolling along the forest floor, ripping at each other. By the time the five hunters caught up, Bealstock had clearly asserted its superiority; it landed a pair of devastating punches on Scott's midsection, both of which caused enormous cracking noises. It was more than a little shocking to see the enormous Alpha wolf go limp under Bealstock's fists.

Bealstock, seemingly unconcerned with Scott, turned and stood to face the five hunters, who'd arrayed themselves in a semi-circle around the creature. "Did he take a bite out of him?" Gunther asked.

"Don't think so," Declan responded. "Don't see any bite marks."

"_Hunters_," Bealstock muttered. _Damn, that voice is creepy_, Declan thought. _My Little Pony meets the Crypt Keeper._ "_It's been a long time since Bealstock has been with hunters. But are these really hunters?_"

"Of course we're hunters, Bealstock," Chris said. "You recognize us. Hunters like us made you, didn't they?"

"_Not hunters like you_," Bealstock replied. "_Hunters that were strong._"

"What makes you think we're not strong?" Curtis asked.

"_Do not make Bealstock laugh_," the creature responded. "_If Bealstock wanted you dead, you would all be dead now, heading down the lonely river toward oblivion. Hunters used to be strong. And they'd never have helped a wolfy, even one as strange as this one._"

"If you think Scott's so strange, why take him as an acolyte?" Kate asked. Declan spared a glance at her; she'd brought a high-powered hunting rifle. From this range it'd blow the head clean off a deer. Who knew if it'd have any impact at all on Bealstock?

"_Wolfy is strong because of what it is_," Bealstock replied. "_And you are all weak because of what you could be but won't be_." Before the words could finish echoing, the creature charged Gunther, hitting the old hunter with its shoulder down. Chris, Declan, and Kate all opened fire; Curtis, strangely, didn't, but Declan didn't have time to wonder what his brother was doing. Kate's shot went wide but both Chris and Declan's hit home. Bealstock didn't seem to notice. Gunther, hit by the charge, went sprawling, his shotgun flying away into the trees. Satisfied that Gunther was down, Bealstock leaped up into the trees, disappearing into the dark canopy.

A second later it landed, almost faster than the eye could see, behind Kate. It knocked her hunting rifle away and then twisted one arm behind her, holding her in front of itself like a shield. "_Example_," Bealstock said. "_Real hunters would keep attacking, even if it meant killing one of their own. You won't attack Bealstock with this one here, no you won't._" He twisted harder and Declan heard an audible snap as Kate's arm broke. "_It makes you more fun to play with._"

Chris went to say something, but before he could get the words out, Bealstock hurled Kate like a doll directly at him. The pair of Argents landed in a heap, tangled around each others' limbs, and Chris' gun tumbled away. Bealstock started to advance on them and Declan, sweating, began to pull the trigger, hoping that he could at least distract the thing long enough for the Argents and his father to regroup and his brother to come out of whatever trance he'd gotten himself into.

Before he could get off the shot, though, Scott's voice sounded from behind them. "Bealstock," he said, his voice pained. Declan turned to look – Scott had shifted back to his Beta form and was laying, mostly naked, in the leaves. "Wait. Don't kill them."

"_Why not, wolfy?_" the creature asked, turning as well to look at Scott. "_They may play nice for now, but eventually they'll start playing rough and you'll have to kill them, because they're weak. Why not just kill them now?_"

"I'll be your acolyte," Scott choked out. "That's why I came here. I want to be your acolyte. But I want you to leave them alone."

"_But why?_" Bealstock asked. "_Wolfy's wants don't make sense. Why does wolfy want to save a bunch of hunters?_"

"Because he's working with them against you," Curtis said. Declan felt his blood drain. His brother had stepped closer to Bealstock, lowering his gun. "He's going to bite you if you let your guard down. Then the others will shoot you full of silver until you die."

Bealstock's head snapped around to look at Curtis. "_Why would you tell Bealstock this?_"

"Curtis, what are you doing?" Declan hissed.

Curtis turned to look at his brother, and for the first time Declan saw something beside dim-witted malice or casually cruel antagonism; Curtis' face was clouded with complete insanity. "Think I found a new brother, _brother_."

Bealstock, in yet another move that seemed completely out of character for the towering, muscular being, had stopped and seemed to be scratching its chin under the concealing shadows of its hood. "_It wants to join Bealstock?_" the creature mused out loud. "_But why?_"

"I think you got the right idea," Curtis said to the creature, although he kept his body squared on Declan. _In case he has to pull his gun on me, _Declan thought. _This is insane._ "Things like that," he nodded at Scott, whose face was ashen, "should die, and we shouldn't get so squeamish about just fucking doing it, whatever it takes." He turned to look Bealstock square in the face. "I don't want to be weak anymore. I want to be your acolyte."

Bealstock took a second to consider. "_So be it_," the creature said. It swept toward Curtis, scooped him up as though he weighed nothing, and a second later was gone, leaving Declan staring at the space where the man he'd once called his brother had just been standing.

***[]***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, that took _way_ longer than I'd intended. I think comments about how I'm hoping to update more regularly are pretty much moot at this point. Thanks to everyone for the patience; as always, drop a review and let me know what you thought.


	21. Recovery Night

RECOVERY NIGHT

The group that arrived back at the McCall house that night was grim. Scott, wearing a set of old sweat pants and a white t-shirt, had to practically be carried by Declan and Stiles into the house. Kate's arm was broken in two places; she'd applied a makeshift splint. Allison, Chris, and Gunther weren't hurt, beyond the scratch on Allison's face. Sophie, Bridget, Nia, and the pair of FBI agents brought up the rear. Chris and Declan let Scott down on the couch, where he stretched out, groaning in pain. The others slowly settled into places around the room, all looking far away, none of them looking at each other.

Stiles was the first to attempt to speak. "I can't believe it," he said.

"I can," Declan muttered.

"What?" Gunther asked. "Speak up like a man if you got something to say."

"Oh, come on, _Dad_," Declan said, pushing off the wall he'd been leaning against. "You've known how bad an egg Curtis is for years. Or at least you would if you were around to see it."

Gunther sneered, a dangerous look. "I let you get in my face once tonight. Don't think I'll let you get away with it twice."

"Take your best shot," Declan said, advancing on his father.

Chris stepped in between them. "That's enough," he said. "I think we've had enough family fracturing for one night."

"You would say that," Kate muttered, wincing as she did so.

"What?" Chris asked, turning to look at his sister. "What did you say?"

"Just that you're back to playing peace maker," Kate said. "You make up with your daughter by deciding that it's okay for her to fuck a werewolf after all and now you're the grand peace maker. Face it, Bealstock was right, we're way too weak to beat him."

"You bitch," Allison said. "It's like no one can be _happy_ - "

"Allison, please, let's not start that up again - "

"No, Dad, she can't be allowed to just get away with throwing things in peoples' faces like that, I don't care _what_ happened to her ten years ago - "

"What happened to me ten years ago?" Kate asked. She laughed. Declan and Gunther had been staring daggers at each other and Allison and Chris had turned to each other to argue, but Kate's semi-hysterical laugh drew all their attention back around to the blonde hunter. "What _happened_ to me ten years ago. That's a funny one. Nothing _happened_ to me ten years ago, little girl. I did a few things, sure, but nothing you haven't done with the broken chew toy on the couch over there."

"I'm pretty sure I never burned down a house full of people," Allison replied.

"Not yet," Kate muttered. "At least I had a _plan_. You don't even have that much. We don't even have that much."

"What are you talking about?" Allison asked.

"Just shut up," Kate said, deflating completely. She sat down, heavily, in one of the chairs, and curled up on herself. "It doesn't matter."

Before anyone else could say anything, they were distracted by a coughing fit from Scott on the couch. The fit subsided after a second and he propped himself up, to be able to address everyone. "Kate's right," he said. "Uh, not about the fucking bit, but about the weak bit. We're clearly not strong enough to fight Bealstock, even all together."

"How can we be?" Chris asked. "You know better than anyone how fast and strong he is, Scott."

"I think that really is the question," Stiles said, speaking up for the first time that night. All eyes turned to him. He shrank a bit under the scrutiny – half the people in the room still looked furious – but he kept going. "Think about it, what'd Bealstock say? That hunters used to be strong. And it was hunters that killed all the other things like him once upon a time, right?"

"According to the legends, yes," Gunther said.

"So how'd they do it?" Stiles asked. "How were they stronger than we are?"

"They were ruthless," Kate said. She'd recovered from the momentary funk and sounded as arrogant and cocksure as ever. "I think he made that point with the bones in my arm."

"It has to be more than that," Stiles said. "Unless it took hundreds of hunters to kill each arez-grou back in the middle ages, I don't think simple ruthlessness is all he was talking about. Think about it – how many times did he get shot with _guns_ tonight and it didn't even slow him down? And a bunch of hunters in the middle ages managed to bring down tons of guys just as strong as him? They must have had some other edge."

"You can shoot me with guns and it doesn't do much," Scott pointed out, his voice raspy.

"So long as they're regular bullets," Stiles said. "Coat those bullets with wolfsbane or silver and you start having problems eventually, don't you? Think it through! Bealstock doesn't care about knowledge or planning, so all he'd see is strength! The hunters who killed his brothers – yeah, they may have had to be a little ruthless to get the job done, but they had some other edge that made them stronger. Whatever that edge was, that's what we need."

"Congrats, kid, that's great logic," Gunther said. "Any idea how to figure out what that edge of theirs was?"

Stiles thought for a second. "Okay, so maybe I have to work on that part," he said. "But the point is, we can't lose hope and fall to pieces like this. None of us have been at our best lately but now's the not time to fall apart, because if we do then we're all dead. We've got somewhere we can go with this. Now we just have to go there."

He looked around the room at all of the discouraged faces. After a moment of silence, Kate spoke up. "If he says 'who's with me' do I have permission to shoot him?"

Stiles grimaced at her. "I don't remember asking for your opinion, Kate," he said. "You know, ever."

Before an argument could break out again, Scott held up a weak hand. "Come on, guys, enough," Scott said. "Stiles is right. If we're planning on beating this thing we have to stick together, now more than ever. If we can all just agree that we're on the same side for now then let's call it a night, get some sleep, and start fresh tomorrow." He inclined his head toward the two FBI agents. "You two have been awfully quiet. I kind of expected questions."

Murray had been shaking his head pretty much the entire time. "Man, this is some X-Files shit we've landed in here. I don't have to be Mulder, do I?"

Stiles shook his head. "X-Files was aliens. Those don't exist."

Murray looked around at Stiles. "So what the hell was that thing back there?"

"At least he's asking 'what' and not 'who,'" Gunther muttered. "Saves time explaining things later."

"You've had to explain all this to people before?" Scott asked, looking around at Gunther.

"Sure," Gunther said. "What, you think you can do this for a couple decades without people seeing shit every now and then? Some just want to forget it right away. Others need an explanation. Least I can do, really."

"I'm a werewolf," Scott said, to the pair of agents.

"You're a werewolf," Agent Sanders responded, as though she were trying the words out.

"He sure is," Stiles jumped in. "And the big muscley guy with the voice made of sugar and spice and everything made of hurting? He's called Bealstock."

"And he's the one who hurt Lydia Martin," Agent Sanders replied, slowly.

"Congratulations, you're not as dumb as you look," Kate said. Allison elbowed her, right in her broken arm, which caused her to gasp and set her teeth on edge, but she didn't say anything else.

"Jesus," Murray muttered.

"I told you something else was going on here," Sanders said to him.

"Oh, and I suppose you had _this_ in mind?"

Sanders ignored the retort. "So what is this Bealstock thing? What can it do? For that matter, what can all of you do?"

"Someone ought to fill them in," Scott said.

"Got it," Gunther said, pushing off from the wall again and walking over to the two agents. "Been through this enough times before. Come on, let's get some coffee. You're going to be up late over this one, trust me."

Before they turned to go, Stiles waved, trying for a last moment of comedy. "And hey, welcome to the Emotional Trauma Adventure Gang. The health plan's not so good but there's rarely a dull moment."

Still looking a little dazed, both agents nodded as though Stiles was serious and allowed themselves to be lead into the kitchen by Gunther.

The remaining people in the room cast looks around at each other for a moment before Scott spoke up. "Let's get some sleep," he said. "I'm beat."

"Yeah, you sure as hell are, kid," Kate muttered. Scott shot her a nasty look, then went to stand and instantly Allison was at his side, pulling him up and supporting his weight with his arm across her shoulder. The two of them limped slowly toward the stairs as the rest of the occupants of the living room started drifting away in different directions. Stiles, scratching his head, turned to go, pulling the Jeep's keys out of his pocket.

To his surprise, he found Sophie blocking his path. "That was some nice stuff you said," she said, looking at the floor.

Stiles felt his face warm. "Thanks," he said. "You should hear my stand-up. It's better. Planned jokes are better than the off the cuff stuff. Especially when my cuffs still have Scott's blood on them."

Sophie kept her eyes firmly rooted on the floor and shot right past Stiles' attempt at gallows humor. "Look, I know we haven't really had a chance to talk," she said. "I wasn't sure you'd want to."

"I want to," Stiles said, the humorous air evaporating from his voice immediately. "You know, talk. I figure there's a few things we should talk about, right?"

"Right," Sophie said. She finally looked up into Stiles' eyes and all he could think was that she looked scared and tired. "I want to apologize for what I said at the hospital the other day."

Stiles scratched his head. "Which part?"

"The part about rape," she said. "That wasn't fair. If anything, Lydia was right." She laughed, harshly. "God, you must hate me."

Stiles shook his head. "I don't hate you," he said. "I – look, what happened to us happened to _both_ of us. It's not your fault and it's not my fault. If anything it's Bealstock's fault. But you didn't do anything to me, any more than I did something to you. I guess if you still feel bad about it, you can look at it that it's something we shared."

Sophie gave Stiles a quizzical look. "Don't you?" she asked. "Still feel bad about it?"

Stiles sighed. "I don't know," he said, scratching his head and trying to ignore the churning sensation in his chest and stomach. "I'm so mixed up about the whole thing. I mean, on the one hand, I love Lydia, I've loved Lydia since we were tiny and I still love her now and I know it's tacky to say that that won't change but I just can't picture a world where that isn't the case, you know? And on the other hand, what happened between us – well, I don't know if you could tell, but I liked it. A lot. It was – I mean, I don't want to offend you, but it was really great. Like, I don't exactly have a ton, or, you know, _any_ experience to compare it to, but it felt like it was really great sex, you know? But on the other hand, I didn't actually have any say in what was happening, and even though it felt good then, _that_ doesn't feel good now. But on the other hand, I see you, and it feels like it was something that was done to both of us, and you're definitely cute and smart and I can't seem to help but feel close to you after that was done to both of us, like we're connected by it, and that's just confusing as hell. And you put all that together and that's like four hands to consider. Too many hands."

"Um," Sophie said. "Yeah."

"Sorry," Stiles said. "Sometimes I really shouldn't be allowed to use words. Tends to get out of hand. See? More hands." Sophie laughed, lightly. "Hey, there's a smile."

"Yeah," she said. "You are funny. Look, Stiles, I don't know if I'll ever really be over what happened between us. I mean, it was bound to happen someday, and I've been terrified of it my entire life, but then it happened and it was real, you know? And I didn't have any control either. I wanted it then, but I don't want to have wanted it, you know? That's the problem. I don't know if I'll ever be able to get over losing that battle."

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" Stiles asked.

Sophie laughed, harshly again. "You think you need to start asking for permission now?"

"Yes," Stiles said, plainly. "Matter of fact, I think asking for permission is more important now than ever."

Sophie softened at these words. "Okay," she said. "I mean, go ahead, ask."

"Okay," Stiles said, breathing out slowly. _She is so going to be offended by this._ "I really don't want to offend you, I just, you know, want to know what goes on in your head a little better. It's just – why don't you want to want it?"

"What?" Sophie asked.

"You know, sex," Stiles said. "I mean, I don't exactly know how the whole nymph thing works, but it's pretty natural for teenagers to want to have sex. Why don't you? And _please_ don't think I'm implying that it's bad that you don't want to. I just want to understand."

Sophie nodded slowly. "It's just always been that way," she said. "We've been afraid of it since we were old enough to understand what sex is. Sex meant killing and loss of control. I guess I made myself about _not_ being that, over the years."

Stiles breathed out slowly again. "Well, you know now that sex doesn't necessarily mean murder," he said. "You don't have to be afraid of that, at least."

"Yeah," Sophie said. "And I am relieved that you're not dead, believe me. But I still have to worry about losing control and boning the first guy I see."

Stiles laughed, a little self-consciously. "I was just the first guy you saw?" he asked.

Seemingly against every fiber of her being, Sophie grinned a little. "Well, not the _first_," she said. "But you did look best." Stiles grinned back. "Remember, the competition was a room full of hunters who were too busy blabbering to themselves to even notice that I was there." Stiles' grin faltered. Sophie smiled, big and genuine. "I'm just playing with you. Look," she said, casting her eyes away, "I know that we're both still dealing with what happened. But I was hoping – I guess I was hoping we could still be friends."

"Yeah," Stiles said, quickly. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Nothing more than that," Sophie said, waving a finger in front of him.

"Nothing more than that," Stiles repeated, nodding. Try as he might, though, he couldn't stop picturing her naked, even after he was out the door and in the Jeep, leaving him to wonder the whole ride home just how long a cold shower it would take to drown himself.

***[]***

Scott and Allison reached his room with some difficulty. Scott collapsed down onto the bed as Allison walked back and the shut the door. When she turned back to Scott, he was breathing heavily. "I guess I'll take the floor tonight," she said, bending to smooth out the sleeping bag Scott had been using since they'd agreed to back off their relationship the week previous.

Scott shook his head. "No," he said.

"Come on, Scott," she said. "Your ribs are broken again and there's no way to tell if they'll heal this time. You should take the bed."

"Not arguing with that," Scott said, still breathing heavily. "I just – I meant, you don't have to sleep on the floor."

Allison straightened up. "Are you saying - "

Scott shook his head. "No sex," he said. "But – I guess I'd just feel better with you next to me."

Allison bit her lip. _This is going to be so hard_, she thought. Putting herself past it, she stripped off her jacket and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. Even though she was careful to be gentle, when her weight inclined the bed, it shook Scott slightly and he winced. "Still hurts?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "Just like last time. I don't think I'm just going to heal like last time."

Allison felt a slight chill. "You didn't _just heal_ last time."

"No, I - " Scott started, then realized what she'd already concluded. He looked up at her, a little afraid and confused. "No," he said. "No, we're not doing that."

"Maybe we have to," Allison said. "It's how you got better last time, right?"

"This isn't fair to either of us," Scott said, closing his eyes. "I don't – I don't want to run you around like this. This has to be confusing as hell for you and I don't want to hurt you. No, I'm not doing this. We're not doing this."

"Scott - " Allison started, reaching for his hand.

"No!" Scott said, trying to inch himself away and wincing in pain again. "I told you I need to focus on beating Bealstock. We can't – I want to, God, you know I want to, but we need to figure ourselves out and really get back on track before we do that, and we can't do _that_ until we beat Bealstock."

Allison bit her lip again. "And you can't beat Bealstock if you've got a pair of broken ribs," she said.

Scott laughed, harshly, which caused him to cough and sputter with pain again. "I can't beat Bealstock when I'm perfectly healthy," he said. "Maybe crippling injuries are the key. Me and Lydia can attack him together. Maybe with crutches or something."

"Scott," Allison said, reaching forward and run her hands through his hair. "You know as well as I do that no matter what, you need to be healthy for what goes down. You may not have been able to beat him _yet_, but we need you to be able to participate in whatever the plan winds up being. You're still the strongest weapon we have."

"Allison," Scott said, his eyes closing again as he felt her hands playing across his head. His voice had wavered. "You know I want to, you know I want _you_, but this is just isn't fair to do to you, I - "

"You're not doing something to me," Allison whispered, letting her hand trail down Scott's head and across the skin of his neck. "I'm right here, Scott. I'm deciding to do this. I want to do this."

"It isn't right," Scott said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Yes, it is," Allison said, bending forward to kiss him lightly on the forehead. "Us, doing this, will always be right."

She left another light kiss on his cheek and then she backed off the bed, leaving Scott laying on his side. As he watched, she pulled her shirt off over her head and then unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down to the floor, leaving her in her underwear. With a quick grin, she reached back and undid her bra, then pulled her panties down to the floor as well, and stood, that same cocksure grin on her face, completely naked. "I think you're a little over-dressed for this occasion," she said, her voice low and sexy.

Scott reached down and pushed the sweatpants down to his thighs, gritting his teeth at the pain in his ribs as he moved. Allison stepped forward and pulled at his pants slowly, dragging them down his skin and being careful not to catch them on his feet and jerk him suddenly down the bed, which she was pretty sure would have caused another shot of pain.

Once he was pantsless, Allison hesitated. Scott's eyes were closed again and he seemed to be concentrating on keeping the pain in check. _What if this is a bad idea?_ Allison thought. _He doesn't look like he's in anything even approaching the right shape for this. What if I make it worse?_

To give herself something to do while she was reconsidering, she rolled up Scott's shirt along his torso, exposing his chest – and the heavy, purple bruises that had already sprung to life along his ribs on both sides. Almost involuntarily, Allison bent and kissed the bruise. She heard Scott gasp at the light contact and she went to pull back but he caught her hand and whispered that it was okay, it felt good, and, grinning, she bent forward again and licked at his bruised skin, sending a shiver up his entire body.

A moment later she climbed onto the bed. _I have never had to be so careful doing this_, she thought. _A new meaning of safe sex? Heh, we're not even using a condom. God we're bad_. Carefully, she put her weight on one knee along Scott's side, then swung her other leg over to the other side, careful to keep herself raised high enough that she didn't land on him. Once she was in position, she lowered herself slowly, reaching between them to guide Scott into her.

Only to find that he wasn't nearly in the right condition to be lead inside of her.

"Uh, Scott?" Allison asked.

"Yeah, I know," Scott said. "Uh. This has never happened to me before."

"I know."

"I mean, usually it's the opposite problem, you know?"

"I know."

"Uh," Scott said. "I mean, I don't really know what to do about this."

Allison licked her lips. "I've got a few ideas." Carefully again, she climbed off of him to stand on the side of the bed. "You just need some encouragement." Allison breathed out slowly. _Okay, so it's been a while since I've done this_, she thought. _Just like riding a bicycle._

"What are you doing?" Scott asked, as Allison's head descended back to the bruises on his midsection. She kissed him there, then began trailing kisses lower, until she reached her goal. When she kissed him there, she felt him gasp. "Oh. That's what you're doing."

Allison freed up her mouth to speak. "Would you prefer I didn't?"

"No," Scott said quickly. "By all means, continue."

After a moment of rigorous motion, she felt Scott relax a little; the lack of tension must have eased some of the pain he was in, because he started to respond to what she was doing to him. A moment after she noticed that he was right where she wanted him to be. Again, quickly, she climbed onto the bed and straddled him, and then guided him inside of her.

Allison figured that she'd start slowly, making all of the motion herself, and then it would build up and he'd transform and they'd both climax, just like last time. To that end she began rocking her hips slowly. The sensation of warm pleasure started to spread from between her legs, into her stomach and her hips and her thighs, and Allison tossed her head back in pleasure.

The motion, however, also bucked her forward slightly, which put momentary pressure on Scott's ribcage. Scott gasped out in pain. Allison immediately stopped moving to avoid hurting him further. "Damn it," Scott muttered. "I'm getting really sick of all the things I don't have control of. I can't even do this right."

Allison leaned forward gently to rub her hand along Scott's bruised ribs. He was still physically capable of proceeding, but she was less sure than ever that she was doing the right thing. "What was it like last time?" she asked. "When, you know, having sex cured you." Scott looked away and didn't respond. "Scott? Don't look away from me. Not now of all times."

Scott shook his head. "It felt," he started, then faltered and stopped. He tried to take a deep breath but it just caused him to wince with pain again. He started coughing, but he managed to choke out the next words. "It felt like I was fucking you as a werewolf. I mean, it wasn't just me, your boyfriend, it was me the werewolf, the thing that wants to tear people to shreds and eat their flesh. That's what was fucking you. That's what it felt like."

Allison nodded. "So now you have to do that again."

"Damn it, Allison!" Scott said. He tried to shift away from her but she had him pinned, and his weakened state meant that he couldn't do anything about it. "It's not that simple."

"You know you won't hurt me," Allison said.

"I know I won't hurt you because I keep control of myself," Scott responded. "You're telling me to lose control."

"I trust you," Allison said. "I trust that side of you."

Scott shook his head. "You shouldn't," he said.

"I do," Allison said. _This is crazy. _

Scott was shaking his head more vigorously. "I could kill you."

This time Allison shook her head. "No, you can't," she said. "I don't believe that you can. Think about it, Scott. Even a week ago when having sex with me like that cured you, did you want to kill me?"

Scott's face turned pensive. "No," he said. "Not specifically, I guess. But I wanted to cut you. I wanted to – God, do I have to tell you these things?"

"Yes," Allison said. "You need to hear them."

"I wanted to bite you," Scott said, in a rush, looking away again. "I think it's a werewolf thing. The bite, the clawing, it's part of the sex for that part of me."

Allison reached down and gently took hold of Scott's face. _Last thing I need is to hurt him again and have him lose it again,_ she thought_. _She redirected his eyes to her own. "I told you before," she said. "I've known since the first night we had sex. If you bite me, it's okay. It's better than okay, maybe. You can cut me; I'll heal. You can bite me, I'll still be me, just like you're still you. I love you and I want this. I shouldn't have to keep telling you that."

Scott laughed. "Guess we can add another point in the 'Scott is Pathetic' column."

Allison shook her head. "No, you're not," she said. A light was going on in her head. _Do I dare?_ "You're not pathetic. At least, you weren't."

Scott's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You weren't pathetic," she said. "When you were standing up to us. To me and my dad and Kate. When it was about protecting Lydia from us you threw every word back in our faces, beat us every time it counted, and still stayed strong enough to not kill. You were...God, you were _magnificent_. That's the Scott we need."

"Any idea how to get him back?" Scott asked, his voice small.

Allison's eyes were drilling holes through his skull. "That's the problem," she said, rolling her hips slightly, aware that he was still inside her. _I need to be subtle about this if it's going to work_, she thought. "No more ideas. No more plans, not for right now. Being a werewolf isn't about planning or thinking, it's about feeling, feeling rage and bloodlust and desire. Werewolves need unbridled emotion to be strong, so we need to get the bridle off."

"What is a bridle, anyway?"

Allison shook her head. "No more jokes," she said. "Tonight you're going to fuck me."

Scott's face turned crestfallen. "And what if I can't?"

Allison stopped rocking her hips. "Then this has all been for nothing," she said, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "You can sit there and wallow in your misery and hope that the others come up with a way to kill something that's obscenely strong and fast without needing you, and you can do that alone I might add, or you can take back some control. Let it out. Don't be a boy, _be my Alpha_. You want me but it hurts? Don't wallow. Don't be pathetic. Be _angry_."

When Scott didn't move, didn't change his expression, Allison went to climb off of him. _Please_, she thought. Just when she thought she'd actually make it off of him, that the night had actually been a complete failure, Scott caught her arm. "Wait," he said.

"Make me," Allison hissed back.

Scott shook his head. "I won't force you," he said.

"I know," Allison replied. "I'm not telling you to force me. I'm telling you I want it and I want it _rough_." She felt Scott's grip tighten on her arm, pulling her back on top of him. "You've spent the last few weeks trying to be a diplomat, but that's not you, Scott. You're not a diplomat, you're an _Alpha_. You don't sit around tables, nodding along with a bunch of strategists. You get _angry_." She felt him wince in pain as he tried to buck his own hips up into hers. In response she began rocking her own hips into his again, ignoring a second wince of pain, which he also ignored, gritting his teeth and trying again to thrust himself into her further. "You don't try to make hunters feel better about themselves, you make sure they know that you're the strong one and that if they want to keep the peace they'll put up with you." He winced again but his movements were getting stronger, harder, and Allison could feel his fingernails trailing down her arm, not quite cutting her skin. She felt her own pleasure building again. "You're sarcastic, devil-may-care, and you don't take shit from anyone. You don't let it get you down. You let it make you stronger." Scott was growling, half from the pain he was clearly still feeling and half from the sensations that were starting to build between them. Allison herself was already most of the way toward her first orgasm. "You're not pathetic. You're...you're..._you're my Alpha!_"

The last words came out as a half-scream as Allison hit her first climax, clenching her legs to Scott's sides as the waves of intense pleasure hit her. When she looked down again, Scott was breathing heavily, but not out of pain; he'd withdrawn his hands from her arms and his fists were clenched.

He was staring at her neck.

She went to pull him to a sitting position but before she could, faster than she could even see, he'd flipped her over and was on top of her. It took her a second to re-orient herself but once she did the pleasure was back as Scott thrust into her, the bed creaking as he pushed in deeper and deeper and thrust harder and harder, and with each thrust he grimaced and growled louder and Allison was moaning his name, clawing at his skin, grabbing at his hair, and then she felt his hands grab her wrists and pin them to the bed above her head and his fingernails were cutting into her skin and everything was amplified, every sensation was a bomb of sweet feeling across her skin, and she was begging him to not stop as he licked and nipped at the exposed, stretched skin of her chest even as he continued to hold her hands firmly above her head.

And then he reared back and his eyes seared red and he let out a gigantic roar which literally shook the house, and she felt spasms running through his entire body, not of pain but of pleasure, and when he looked back down at her his face had covered over with hair and his eyes were still burning red and the hands holding her wrists were claws biting into her skin and she could feel herself bleeding and all of it, every single feeling, was good. Scott was breathing heavily again. She wiggled out of his grasp and reached up to grab his hair. "Don't stop," she said.

He didn't.


	22. Research

Author's Note: So, yeah, didn't update once during January. Remember the days when this story updated twice a week? Yeah, long time ago. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Everything's been painfully slow on this for months now but I _am_ still moving along with it and don't have plans to abandon it altogether.

A quick shout out to lovelyloupus for sending me some inspiration. Always good to see that people are still invested.

RESEARCH

The next day was a Saturday. Stiles had woken at nine AM to his cell phone; Scott texting, asking him to come over to the house as soon as he was decent. This had taken longer than he'd originally planned – he'd lingered in the shower, the water turned on cold, trying to get the dream that had starred both Sophie and Lydia out of his head and failing miserably. As it happened, he was the last to arrive at the house.

When he walked in, he found Scott, Gunther, Dr. Deaton, and Sophie seated around the kitchen table. "Thanks for coming over," Scott said, looking up at his friend and smiling. He got up, his body moving fluidly and without resistance, and offered Stiles his seat. _No pain_, Stiles thought, watching Scott walk over to the counter to pour another mug of coffee. _Well, that didn't take long._

"Want to tell us what we're doing?" Gunther asked. "I didn't get much sleep last night on account of filling in the spooks."

"Spooks?" Stiles asked, sitting down in Scott's vacated chair and nodding to him as he passed him the steaming mug of coffee.

"Agents," Gunther said. He raised his own mug and sipped from it, scowling. "You kids got no appreciation for real slang."

"I want you all to go over all the information about the arez-grou again," Scott said, ignoring Gunther's muttering. He leaned back against the counter, looking at the four assembled at the table. "Dr. Deaton, you know more about supernatural creatures and their anatomy than anyone. Sophie, you're the one in the know about the mythology surrounding – well, all of us. Gunther, you've got the most real-world fighting experience. And Stiles, you're the one who realized that we must be missing something. The four of you are our best shot at figuring this out."

"You want us to, huh?" Gunther asked. Stiles took a second look at the old hunter; there were bags under his eyes and the skin of his face looked stretched. "Someone put you in charge when I wasn't looking?"

"Actually, you did," Scott said, not missing a beat. "When you made a decision to bring your problems to my town, stay in my house, and get my sister hospitalized because _you_ couldn't handle the problem yourself. But, you know, if you have a problem with me being in charge, feel free to name one thing you've done since getting here which has actually helped."

Gunther looked like he'd been punched. "First Declan, now you," he said. "I don't deserve this shit."

Scott shook his head, again not missing a beat. _He's on his game_, Stiles thought. "I don't care what you deserve," he said. "I care what you do. So find a way to kill this thing. Then you can wallow all you like."

Deaton spoke up, looking, as ever, completely calm and composed. "Scott?" he asked. "Do you have any idea what we're looking for?"

Scott looked at Stiles. Stiles shrugged. "Somehow, hundreds of years, a group of otherwise regular people with medieval weapons managed to kill a whole bunch of arez-grou," he said. "Maybe Bealstock's a little stronger than them on account of having lived longer, but we know all of them were stronger and faster than werewolves, they were designed that way. So those hunters must have had some leg up that let them get it done. That's what we're looking for."

Gunther shook his head. He avoided looking at Scott, but he still spoke. "We've been through the records a dozen times," he said. "There isn't much there at all, and what there is just describes the killing of the arez-grou in general terms. 'This one was slain,' 'that one was delivered out of this world,' etc. Nothing that describes _how_."

"Look again," Scott said.

Gunther sighed. "Fine," he said. "We'll look again. It'll go quicker if we split the material. Two groups?"

"I'll work with Stiles," Sophie said, instantly. All eyebrows around the table raised in her direction. "I think we'll work together well," she said, wilting a little bit from her sudden enthusiasm.

Scott was giving her a narrow, calculating look. "Do what you have to," he said, after a second. "I'm going out to do some training. Let me know if you need anything from me." He turned around, pushed open the door, and departed into the backyard.

"Training?" Stiles asked. "Are we opening a dojo?"

"No, a slaughterhouse," Gunther muttered. He looked over at Deaton. "Feel like taking this party into the living room, doc? I spent most of last night in this room and I'm kind of sick of the décor." Deaton shrugged and the two stood and left the room.

"Sorry," Sophie said, as soon as they were out of earshot. She had her knees pulled up under her chin and was holding her legs in place on the chair. "That was probably embarrassing, me asking to work with you like that."

Stiles shook his head. "Nah," he said, trying act casual. If his eyes strayed too low, he could see where her shirt had bunched up against the chair, leaving a gap between pants and shirt where her slightly pale skin could be seen.

"It's just, you know," she said, hugging her knees in closer. "Friends, right?"

"Of course," Stiles said. _Don't picture her naked. Don't picture her naked!_

***[]***

When Bridget awoke, her first thought was that she was not where she was supposed to be. _It is awfully dark in here_, she thought, glancing around, her eyes still a little blurry from sleep. _Where...? Oh._ She rolled over and glanced down beside her, where a blonde head poked out from under the blankets. She was in the basement. With Declan. _Who has just lost his only real sibling._

She tried to shift her weight slowly enough so as not to wake him, but her arm accidentally nudged him and his eyes opened. "Sorry," she muttered. "Just trying to turn over. I don't think this bed was made with two people in mind."

"Futon," Declan said, yawning. "And no. It wasn't."

Bridget's eyebrows arched in sympathy. "Think you could get back to sleep?" she asked.

Declan took a moment to just look at her. She'd begun to document these long looks in her own mind; it pleased her that Declan seemed to like just looking at her face enough that he'd linger doing it just long enough to be noticeable. Now, though, there was a note of overriding sadness in his eyes that made Bridget's heart dip lower in her chest. "Doubt it," he said.

Bridget snuggled in closer to Declan. He rolled slightly onto his back to give her room to rest her head on his shoulder. She felt his arm going around her shoulders and pressed her own hands against his chest, hoping he'd find the pressure reassuring. _He has to find something reassuring_. "How are you doing?" she asked. After a brief pause she chuckled slightly. "Right, that was the worst possible question I could ask right now."

Declan shook his head. "I'm sure there are worse," he said. There were ashes in his voice.

Bridget inclined her head to look up into Declan's eyes, but he was staring at the wall by then, his gaze far away. "Do you want to talk?" she asked.

Declan shook his head again. The motion was light, but between the small bed size and their close proximity, Bridget felt it shake her slightly too. "Don't really know what to say."

Bridget relaxed her head back onto Declan's shoulder and pulled her legs in tighter towards his. They were both still wearing the clothes they'd been wearing the night before, sans shoes; Bridget curled her around the tops of Declan's feet. They felt cold. "Well, what are you feeling?" she asked. _I know I can't push too much, but he _has_ to let someone in._

To Bridget's slight dismay, Declan pulled away from her, throwing the blankets off of them and gently disentangling himself to sit on the side of the bed. He sighed before speaking. "Don't really know," he repeated. He nodded at the futon across the floor. It still had sheets and a blanket on it. "You know me and him have slept in the same room our whole lives?"

"No," Bridget said. Since he'd actively removed himself from physical contact with her she didn't want to push the issue by snuggling up to him again, but the urge was _strong_.

"Not strictly every night, mind," Declan said. "We've moved around a lot, and between that and the nature of the job itself – having to sleep in shifts sometimes if something was after us – and of course Curtis had to have the room to himself frequently for his, uh, visitors. But in terms of anything permanent – we always slept in the same room."

"I see," Bridget said. _I don't see anything at all about where he is going with this,_ she thought. _Just keep him talking._

"You're never more vulnerable than when you sleep," Declan said. "I mean, I guess if you let yourself get really over-tired, that'd be a time when maybe you're more vulnerable. But that's something you can help ninety percent of the time. Sleeping's kind of inevitable, so it makes a big deal, who you choose to do it near." He shook his head, still staring at Curtis' bed. "I slept in the same room with him for sixteen and a half years. Any one 'a those nights he could have snuck over and slit my throat, and it never once occurred to me until last night that maybe he'd wanted to."

"Declan," Bridget said, beginning to reach over to him and stopping herself just in time. _Let him decide when he wants to be touched._ "You had no way of knowing this would happen."

"Didn't I?" he asked, turning to look at Bridget. There were tears in his eyes. "Who knew Curtis better 'n me? Not dear old Dad. You heard me last night, getting angry at him like it's his fault. Maybe some part of it is, but if we're looking for blame, most of it stops right here with me."

"Declan," Bridget said again, a greater degree of urgency in her voice. "Stop. Curtis made his own decision. It's not your fault."

"I know he made his own decision," Declan replied. "He's a big boy. Older than us. But why'd he make that decision, Bridget? What pushed him to it? Like I said, maybe it's got some small part to do with Gunther being a lousy father, but you ask me, it's probably got more to do with me being a lousy brother. I had more opportunities."

Bridget shook her own head now, her brow crinkling. "What are you even talking about?" she asked. "You're practically an angel. What could you have possibly done...?"

"I don't know, loved him, maybe," Declan said, his own eyes getting wide. The tears were starting to flow regularly. "All those years, all those times together, and I made it pretty clear that I wasn't too interested in what he got up to, who he was. So I held him at arm's length and he held me at arm's length and neither of us got each other, but so long as we had each others' backs and looked at _hunting_ the same it was all fine. And then when that changed it all fell apart because I never took the time to try and build an actual relationship with my brother."

"That's a two-way street," Bridget replied, sitting up on the bed and gathering the blankets to herself, despite the fact that she was fully dressed. "He never took an interest in who you were, either. Every time he had a chance he turned it into a cruel joke."

"Not always," Declan replied. "I mean, he never got me, that's for sure, but he wasn't always like he has been the last few weeks. I was always just too embarrassed because _he_ seemed so _cool_ – the better shot, the better tracker, _Dad's_ clear favorite, the one who got pretty girls to sleep with him all the time. The list goes on. And then there was me, quiet, shy little Declan, who don't get nothing done without his big brother around to make sure it all goes smooth. Even when he was nice to me I just couldn't be nice back. And I guess after a while he gave up. You can't really blame him for that."

Declan turned back around to face the wall, away from Bridget, seemingly feeling that he'd delivered the killing blow to whatever argument she could prepare. Bridget regarded him for a moment, sitting hunched forward, his back a road map of extreme tension. _No one said relationships are easy_, she reminded herself. Crawling over to sit beside him, where she could catch his eye, she began to speak. "Maybe I can't blame him for that," she said, catching Declan's eyes as planned and holding them with hers by sheer force of will. "But I _can_ blame him for joining the monster trying to kill us. And I can't blame _you_ for him doing that. So maybe your relationship with him never really materialized. Plenty of people in the world have terrible relationships with their siblings. That doesn't give any of them excuses to fall in with murderers. And, yes, so maybe Curtis thought you didn't love him – that doesn't mean he was rendered incapable of at least respecting the person you are. You are a good man, Declan, and Curtis could have held onto his respect of that to have _something_ with his brother. _He_ is the one who let _you_ go"'

Declan was watching her like a hawk, no longer crying. Bridget had to repress the urge to bite her lip and withdraw under that level of scrutiny. She'd had to train herself out of some of the natural shyness that came from how she'd been raised, but she'd made a lot of progress toward not feeling shy when he looked at her.

When he looked at her like that, though, she had no idea what he was thinking. When he finally opened his mouth, the words that came out were tiny. "I know I could have done something."

"Maybe any of us could have," Bridget said. "Or maybe not. The only thing that isn't 'maybe' is that Curtis is a free-thinking adult who made his own decision. It's not your fault."

Bridget saw a single tear trace its way down Declan's face, closely followed by a second, and then a third. After a moment, and to her immense relief, he reached over to brush his hand against her face. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm sure," she said.

He nodded, still crying, but his face didn't look like it was made of ash anymore, at least. "What'd I ever do to deserve you?" he asked, looking down at her with admiration.

Feeling his hand on her face, Bridget felt it'd be safe to respond with a kiss. It was chaster than she wanted – even then, in that situation, there was a little person in the back of her head, tugging at her, telling her that she wanted his body – but even with all that, it still felt _good_.

***[]***

Gunther, sitting in one of the armchairs in the McCall living room, tossed the book he'd been reading down onto the table that separated him and Dr. Deaton, who was sitting on the couch, perusing a different volume. "Nothing there," Gunther muttered. "We've looked at each of these a dozen times already. What's one more going to do?"

"Give us something to go on?" the doctor responded. "Mr. Stilinski may come across as, well, slightly retarded, but I'm finding that he's actually quite astute. Apparently, he helped Scott through one of his first full moons without any real knowledge of what the experience would be like. I think his idea here is a good one."

"Sure, the kid made a great point," Gunther muttered, looking darkly at the book, the work of a medieval alchemist who'd eventually been burned to death by the Church for heresy. "But points are only worth a damn if they're actual literal points we can stick in Bealstock. There's no guarantee we're going to find anything new in any of these damn books."

Deaton glanced up from his own reading. "You've never been impatient with research before, Gunther," he said. "At least not so long as I've known you. I wouldn't think that someone impatient with research would last very long in your profession."

Gunther shook his head. "You're not wrong," he admitted, after a moment. "I guess I'm a little distracted."

Deaton nodded slowly. "That is...understandable," he said. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Gunther couldn't help but sneer at the veterinarian. "Maybe we can have a tea party so I can share all my feelings?" he asked.

Deaton returned his eyes to his book. "I have no time for bullshit," he said. "Whatever's weighing on your mind is, by your own admission, distracting you. Not doing the requisite research and allowing yourself to be distracted when going into a fight are both great ways to get yourself – and others – killed. If you want to help relieve at least one of those problems, I'm more than willing to help. If not, do not waste my time."

Gunther laughed. "You're the third person in the last twenty four hours to get in my face about shit," he said. "At least I figure you got the right to it."

Deaton snorted. "And you believe that Scott and Declan haven't any cause to be angry with you?"

Gunther rooted through the pile of books, futilely looking for one that would inspire him to want to keep reading. "I never figured Declan would become his own man like that, not until he was thirty, at least," he said. "The way he used to follow his brother around all the time, it was like Declan didn't have a personality of his own half the time. And as for Scott...I don't know what any of that was about. Wasn't acting like the kid he is."

Deaton shook his head. "No. He's acting like the Alpha he is."

Giving up on finding a book that he'd actually want to look through, Gunther selected a volume composed two centuries after the death of the last arez-grou which cataloged beasts of that age. "Don't know that that's such a good thing."

Deaton turned a page, his gaze still focused intently on the book in his hands. "There's been much concern in this town since Scott inherited the Alpha status from Peter about whether he's okay or if he's going to lose his composure and start murdering everyone in sight. I'll be the first to admit that I've never run across a non-violent Alpha before, but I have dealt with non-violent werewolves in the past. Scott has taken all of the best qualities I saw amongst them and amplified them by a hundred times. Right now, we need him at the top of his game, no matter what the plan winds up being. That means that, to a certain extent at least, he needs to embrace who and what he is. The rest is a matter of trust."

"And you really trust him?" Gunther asked.

"Yes," Deaton responded. "I understand that Chris Argent has come around to trusting him, too, which is a minor miracle. More than anyone, Scott's kept us all together, all moving forward throughout this. He deserves our trust. And our help."

Gunther nodded. "Suppose you're right."

Deaton flipped another page, skimmed it, then closed the book he was looking at. He looked across at Gunther, who was flipping dejectedly through another volume, practically not seeing the pages. "Scott's not the one who's really bothering you right now," Deaton said, setting the book he'd just finished down on the table between them.

"No," Gunther replied.

"Curtis - " Deaton began, but Gunther cut him off.

"Curtis made his own bed last night," Gunther said. "Declan was right, I shoulda seen this coming. I'm lucky as all hell that both of 'em didn't turn out psychopaths. Truth be told I have no idea how Declan is the man he is. I gave both of them _guns_ for their fifth birthdays and taught them how to always shoot for the head, since most things that have heads die if you shoot them there. I'm hoping I get the chance to beat some sense into Curtis, because I figure I still can – he always responded best to discipline."

"And Declan?" Deaton asked.

Gunther sighed, stopped pretending to be looking through the book in his hands, and tossed it back down on the table. "Declan's another story," he said. "Like I said, he spent so long in Curtis' shadow that I barely thought of him as his own man. And now I find out that he really _is_ his own man and I find that out by him standing up to me in all the worst ways."

"What do you mean?" Deaton asked.

Gunther looked over at the door to the basement. "They're down there together right now," he said. "Bridget didn't even care that I saw her leading him down by the hand last night."

Deaton nodded. "Ah," he said. "Yes, I was a little surprised at their relationship, myself."

"You ever heard of a nymph managing to, uh, you know," Gunther said, tripping over the word not due to any prudish quality of his own but rather because he still had trouble admitting out loud that one of his daughters wasn't a virgin anymore. "_Do that_ with a guy without killing him afterward?"

"Sure, I'd heard stories," Deaton replied. "None that were in any way reliable, as most stories you hear about that sort of thing are. I've also heard stories of a giant sea monster that guards the gateway to the afterlife and a cult of werewolves that believe in the coming of a messianic figure who will deliver them from their violent urges. I have no direct evidence of the existence of either. I've also never met a nymph who hadn't killed her mates. But then, I've never technically met a nymph either, so I have no personal experience to draw on; however, I've always found the notion that nymphs _absolutely must_ kill their mates during or after sexual intercourse to be far too narrow a viewpoint without further study to explain why."

Gunther was giving Deaton a sideways glance. "'Cause someone out there was bound to stop and ask, 'Hey, girlie, _why_ are you trying to strangle me? Was it that bad?'"

Deaton waved off Gunther's joke. "Supernatural creatures are still _creatures_ and as such there are explanations for everything they feel and do," he said. "It's just a matter of deducing the how and why. Take werewolf aggression for example. Werewolves, in their human forms, are stronger and faster than the rest of us, but when they shift they get even stronger and faster. This is, in part, due to a shift in the chemicals in their blood – an increase in certain naturally-occurring steroids and the introduction of a great deal of adrenaline combine together to make them faster and stronger while in their shifted forms. Those chemicals, especially the unbalanced steroids, have the side-effect of driving the wolves into blood rages that are difficult – in some cases nigh-impossible – to come back from without hurting someone. Evolution never selected away from the process because making the werewolves _more_ dangerous to their prey wasn't an evolutionary disadvantage. I've tested the hypothesis under several circumstances and am reasonably certain that my theory is correct."

Gunther's sideways look had taken on a note of utter bewilderment. "You've really thought about all this stuff," he muttered.

"Yes," Deaton replied. "And while I haven't had the time or the opportunity to formulate a strong hypothesis regarding nymph reproduction and run tests, none of the descriptions I've heard of nymphs killing their victims has ever meshed with entirely involuntary behavior. For one thing, there's no precedent in nature for creatures that kill their sexual partners without deriving some benefit – the closest example I can think of is the praying mantis, which kills its male partner during sex and consumes him, the nutrients from which help to bolster the newly-forming child. All other hypotheses I've come up with to explain why it _would_ be involuntary are easily dispelled through the application of logic and/or already known factors. For instance, a solid hypothesis is that the death of the partner is accidental, due to the way in which the nymph copulates with her partner; however, in many direct reports, the nymph wound up killing her mate _after_ sexual intercourse had completed, not as part of the act itself. Another hypothesis holds that nymphs use this process as a form of self-defense, and the involuntary nature of the killing helps to ensure the survival of the nymph. However, the act of sexual intercourse itself is unnecessary to the nymph's survival; her pheromones are more than capable of incapacitating a foe to the point where he is easily dispatched without requiring that the nymph sleep with him first. As a corollary, it's possible that the process is a combination of self-defense and reproduction – gain the necessary material to reproduce and then dispatch the male mate, who may become a threat after copulation is complete; however, this again doesn't track logically, as the nymph has tools directly at her disposal which prevent her mate from becoming violent with her in the future as well, and an enthralled mate who can aid in the hunter/gatherer role would be an evolutionary benefit which trumps the risk associated with leaving a potential rival for the means of survival alive. Logically, and based on everything we do know, it never tracked that nymphs would be _incapable_ of preventing themselves from killing their mates, but rather that they choose to do so in order to bolster the fear that many hunters have for them. And now we know that they are fully capable of preventing themselves from killing their mates. I almost feel cheated out of the experiments I'd devised to monitor hormone levels and EKG on a nymph on full moon. With her express consent, of course."

Gunther's mouth was fairly hanging open. "You're one in a million, doc," he said, after a moment.

"That doesn't do much to dispel your feelings regarding Bridget and Delcan's relationship, though, does it?" Deaton asked, never missing a beat.

Gunther finally recovered from Deaton's long-winded enough to close his mouth. "It's just – they're kind of like siblings, first of all."

Deaton waved this off. "They are not blood relatives," he said. "And the familial relationship you assign is just on this side of completely meaningless to _them_. They're intellectually and physically compatible teenagers who met a couple of months ago. I can't say for certain, but I'd imagine that the taboo against incest is more likely to restrict an individual who has lived with the idea that another individual is a family member for longer than two months. It's also more likely to restrict an individual when the familial bond between himself and the object of his desire is less tenuous than the one formed by Declan and Bridget acknowledging the same individual, you, as 'father.' It's easier to put out of their minds – not only is Bridget not a blood relative, she technically isn't even the same species. Incest initially became a taboo to avoid dilution of the gene pool and I can't see a way to introduce greater genetic diversity than a pair who are from different species altogether."

"They better not be introducing anything into each others' gene pools," Gunther muttered. "And don't bother correcting me on what I just said, doc, I think you get what I mean."

Deaton shrugged. "I understand your concerns," he said. "I suppose the rest is a matter of how much you trust them. Again, I could be wrong, but I thought I detected a note of admiration in your description of the man Declan has become. Why not trust him with this relationship? Or, think of this a different way; now that we know that Bridget, and by extension likely Sophie and Nia, are capable of having sex without killing their partners, they're much more likely to engage in activity of that kind. Who would you prefer Bridget be experimenting with – some boy you don't know, or a young man who you already admire as a good person?"

Gunther's eyes were narrow. "You're making a bit more sense than I like, doc," he said. Before Deaton could respond, Gunther held up his hands. "You're makin' good points, don't get me wrong. I'm just a little set in my ways is all. Takin' in Bridget and Sophie and Nia when the Code woulda demanded I kill 'em surprised even me. Takes me a while to get used to new things, okay?"

"Okay. Shall we return to our reading?" Deaton asked, flashing him a bright, cheerful smile. "We still have a lot of ground to cover."

***[]***

A few hours later, Stiles was questioning the enthusiasm with which he'd pronounced that they had hope the night before. "I don't think there's anything useful in this one," he said, tossing the book he'd been reading back onto the table. "I think I've read it three times, too."

Sophie started when the book landed. She'd been leaning forward over the book she was reading. Almost involuntarily, Stiles felt his eyes drift down to the gap between her jeans and the long-sleeved gray t-shirt she wore. Sure enough, the gap had widened between sitting for hours and the sudden motion when she'd sat up, startled. _You really shouldn't be getting this bothered over seeing a little bit of her skin_, Stiles though, shifting uncomfortably himself. _What' a little extra skin, you've already seen her naked..._

Which, of course, didn't help.

Sophie shook her head to clear the cobwebs. "I'm not finding anything either," she said. "We've all read these books a half dozen times. I think we're going about this the wrong way."

"How do you mean?" Stiles asked.

She sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "I don't know," she said. "I just think we're looking too specifically. If there was anything in any of these that said, 'this is how we killed the arez-grou!' we'd have seen it the first time through. Or, you know, the second or third."

Stiles smiled. _A little edge of sarcasm_, he thought. _Maybe she has potential_. He blinked and wondered instantly what exactly his subconscious had meant by _that_. He started talking to distract himself. "So what do we do about it?"

Her brow knitted. "There's a lot in here about hunts and killing and all that," she said. "But not a lot about the hunters themselves. They're the ones who figured this out the first time around, right? Maybe we should be trying to learn about _them_ instead of about the arez-grou."

Stiles found himself nodding. "Can't hurt," he said. "And yeah, we're getting exactly no where with all this. Maybe we should sit Gunther and Chris and Allison down and quiz them? They seem knowledgeable."

Sophie shivered in answer. "Chris and Allison maybe," she said. "I'd like to leave father out of it."

Stiles felt an eyebrow quirking. "Why's that?" he asked.

Sophie sat back in her chair and looked over at him. Her eyes weren't as big and round as Bridget's, but rather looked like she was squinting perpetually. For the first time, Stiles noticed heavy lines around her eyes. "It's just too weird, listening to him talking about killing things," she said. "I mean, it's not like he kept it from us – we knew what he did from when we were little – but there's a difference between _knowing_ and _seeing_, you know?"

"Tell me about it," Stiles muttered, inclining his head back and stretching. He'd been sitting for hours and he heard several distinct little cracking sounds in his back. "My life's been all about finding out the difference between the joke and the reality for the last eight months. I used to make jokes out of everything and it just feels like less and less is funny."

When he came out of his stretch, he found Sophie still looking at him, wordlessly. "I like your jokes," she said.

Her ribald sincerity – tagging along with another compliment – took him off guard. "Nice to have an appreciative audience," he said, tripping over the last two words.

Before either of them could say anything else, the door to the kitchen swung open. Stiles and Sophie both jerked around, their mutual gaze broken. Stiles wasn't sure if he felt embarrassed or relieved that they were being interrupted. Scott came striding through the door, closely followed by Allison. "Any progress?" he asked.

Stiles shook his head. "We're going to keep looking into other leads and branch out a bit," he replied, with a nod toward Sophie, acknowledging that it'd been her idea to expand their search. "But nothing specific yet. We'll get there."

Scott nodded. "Well, it's about to get a little harder to focus," he said. "I just got a call from Agent Sanders. They've convinced the hospital to let Lydia out at the end of the week."

Stiles couldn't help but spare a glance at Sophie, but the mousy nymph's face was a completely unreadable mask. _What the hell am I supposed to think about anything anymore? _Stiles thought, with a not-small trace of bitterness. _It's like the universe is conspiring to keep me from figuring any one thing out before throwing another half dozen at me._ "Is that a good idea?" he asked. "You know, medically?"

"Apparently," Scott said. He and Allison both moved into the kitchen. Allison took a seat, propping her compound bow up against the wall. Scott headed over to the counter and started taking plates out of the cupboard. "I guess if you're real young and healthy, they'll let you out quicker. Whatever Bealstock does to us takes away a lot of the healing advantages of being a werewolf, but Lydia's still young and strong. And determined. The doctors agreed that it's best to let Lydia out." Stiles gaped at Scott's long answer, to which Scott shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. "I asked, too."

Stiles rubbed at the back of his head. "I guess that's good," he said. "I mean, it's definitely good that she's doing good, I just mean – I mean, I wasn't expecting her to get out so soon."

Scott nodded. "Yeah, me either," he said. "Even talking to her the last couple weeks since it happened, I didn't figure it. But it's happening. And that means something else."

Scott was avoiding looking at him, and Stiles felt his stomach plummet. _Scott never avoids looking me in the eye,_ Stiles thought. "What?" he asked, although he was pretty certain he didn't want to hear Scott's next words.

"We need everyone at 100%, or as close to as possible," he said. "She's still, um, _affected_ by Bealstock's injuries. Like I was."

"So?" Stiles asked.

"So. She needs to be healed. _Like I was_."

Stiles focused his gaze intently on his best friend, but Scott was staring with determination down at the plates. Sophie must have taken a second longer to put the pieces together in her head than Stiles had, because she gasped and backed up her chair, covering her mouth with a hand. Stiles glanced at Allison – she looked impassive. _He already talked to her about it_, Stiles thought. _Of course. Remember when me and Lydia were your best friends, Scott? Me either._ "You can't possibly mean what I think you mean," Stiles finally managed to say.

"I mean exactly what you think I mean," Scott said. Then he rubbed his own head. "Uh, unless you're being stupid or something. I mean that she has to have sex. That's how I've gotten over the after-effects of Bealstock injuries twice."

Stiles reminisced back a half minute to when he'd admonished the universe for hating him and, for just an instant, entertained the idea that it was in fact his best friend who hated him. "That's how _you've_ gotten over it," Stiles said. He pointed to the pile of books on the table. "There's nothing in there about the effect Bealstock has on you and Lydia, let alone how it's meant to be fixed. We have no idea if sex is how it's fixed for all werewolves."

"What could it hurt?" Allison asked.

Stiles whirled on her. "You are kidding, right?" he said. "You have been paying attention for the last two weeks, right? I know that the two of you've had your own little relationship roller coaster going, but the rest of us are still here, too, remember? And yeah, I know that _fucking_ is what solves all of Scott's and Allison's problems, but have you stopped to consider that it also creates problems for some of us?"

Scott and Allison exchanged a glance. Scott was about to say something when Allison shook her head slightly. Scott nodded and Allison spoke instead. "We probably deserve some of that," she said. "Most of it, even. And the rest we'll give you on merit of the situation this puts you in. But you have to understand that what we're saying makes sense. We're about to go into the fight of our lives - "

"We?" Stiles asked. "You think Lydia's going to feel like fighting when she just _lost her arm_ to the thing we'd be fighting? Would you actually consider asking her to fight the thing that did that to her? Is anyone else having a problem with every single thing you're saying right now?"

He thought he heard Sophie mutter something, but couldn't be sure.

Scott finally turned to look at Stiles. Stiles scanned his friend's face; Scott looked determined more than anything. "You think we could keep her away from the fight?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Didn't sound like it'd be too hard the last time I saw her," Stiles said. "What was it she said? 'Be my guest, fight Bealstock, I'm getting out of his way?' She sounded pretty sure."

Scott shook his head. "She said a lot of things that day that she regrets," he said. "A few she probably shouldn't regret, if she were being smart. You'd know that if you'd been to visit her since then."

Scott's last sentence hit Stiles like a sack of bricks. He turned away. _My turn to avoid his eyes_, Stiles thought. Stiles found himself staring at Sophie's feet. He needed something to look at that wasn't his best friend. "I kind of figured she didn't want to see me," he said, his voice very small.

"I wouldn't have blamed her for that," Scott said. "She asked me – twice – not to tell you otherwise. But she does want to see you." Stiles buried his head in his hands. Scott turned back to the plates on the counter. "Think about it. She has to go through some some battery of tests and exams so they can release her, so we won't be able to see her until she gets out on Friday."

Scott made one more attempt at conversation with Stiles – asking him if he was staying for dinner and what he'd like on the pizza – but Stiles didn't respond and, after a couple minutes of trying, both Scott and Allison departed the kitchen, discussing whether to ask Gunther and risk him asking for anchovies again. Stiles stayed exactly as he was, his head in his hands, trying desperately to make the little, shattered pieces of his mind fit back together. After a moment, he felt a slight pressure on his back. Sophie had walked over and laid her hand there. A part of Stiles wanted to scream at her to get away from him, that her being near him had started the whole mess; another part, one which Stiles had trouble acknowledging directly, wanted her to stay purely on merit of wanting her to stay. In the end, the part of him that just needed comfort from _somewhere_ won out and he did nothing, staying like that until it was time to eat.


	23. Release

RELEASE

The rest of the week passed in a blur for Stiles. He'd eventually eaten and driven himself home the evening of the revelation of Lydia's release – and her feelings, a topic which Stiles eventually had to admit to himself he'd been avoiding as studiously as possible. _It was so much easier to deal with the idea that Lydia hates me when I wasn't dealing with it_, he'd thought, when he'd finally brought himself to think about the whole mess. Between brief, five minute bouts of depressed anger, during which he'd tried and failed completely to deconstruct _exactly_ how they'd arrived at this awkward and horrifying juncture in their lives (somehow, each attempt muddled details further, until Stiles had actually had to ask Scott to remind him if Lydia was turned before him or the other way around) he'd spent a great deal of time reading the books that Gunther and Chris had provided that included tidbits about the history of hunters.

By Friday he'd managed to calm himself down, by reciting two things to himself. One was that if he didn't keep his head on straight and figure out how to beat Bealstock, then Bealstock was likely going to wind up taking it off (or taking off the head of someone he cared about). The other was that he'd have no way to know what Lydia would say or do until he saw her and there wasn't any use worrying about it until then. He repeated these two phrases to himself so often that at one point Sophie had noticed him mumbling them to himself and given him an odd look.

By Friday afternoon he was repeating the phrases over and over to himself again.

School, he reflected, as he sat down in history class, had become a kind of disaster zone for all of them. Scott wasn't the only one failing classes (and even he wasn't failing as miserably as he had the year previous). Stiles himself had bombed a history test three days previous. He'd been caught entirely by surprise when their history teacher had handed the test back to him with a gigantic red "F" stamped on the front.

There weren't to be any tests handed back the day of Lydia's release, though, so Stiles figured there was little reason to expect a distraction.

Stiles glanced around the room. He shared last period history with Allison, Declan, Sophie, and Bridget. Bridget and Declan had taken up their now-customary seats near the back, where they could surreptitiously hold hands whenever the teacher wasn't looking. Sophie and Allison usually sat next to each other as well, although Stiles was pretty sure that this wasn't by mutual design; he had a feeling that Sophie's adoration of Allison, and belief that the brunette hunter was really a goddess who would protect them, hadn't completely worn off.

On that day, though, before sitting down next to Allison, Sophie took a couple of strides closer to Stiles, dropped something on his desk, and then turned back to sit in her usual chair. Stiles straightened up immediately and, glancing around lest anyone be looking over his shoulder (in case the note included details not available to the general public about werewolves, nymphs, or arez-grou), unfolded it.

It read, "Stay after class. Prof always runs as soon as the bell rings. Got an idea about our friend."

For a wild moment, Stiles wasn't sure if Sophie was referring to Bealstock or Lydia, but he quickly quashed that line of thinking. _There's no way Sophie would flippantly refer to Lydia as 'our friend,'_ he thought. _She feels almost as bad about this as I do_.

The lesson passed quickly enough. Stiles took a few notes but invariably found himself doodling more in the margins than paying attention. The Hundred Years War – where a bunch of mundane _humans_ ran around killing each other with _swords_ over land or kingdoms or something else equally ridiculous – just didn't feel that interesting anymore. _Besides, didn't they make a Leonardo DiCaprio movie about this one? I'll just rent that. I've always respected Leo's work._ A moment later, another thought struck him. _That's the gayest thing I've ever said and if only I actually were gay than all this crap wouldn't be happening. Maybe I should ask Danny for tips._

True to Sophie's note, as soon as the bell rang, Dr. Neeman bolted for the door. The rest of the students, Declan, Bridget, and Allison included, filed out more slowly. Declan and Bridget were the last out, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. He spared a glance back at Sophie and Stiles, neither of whom had moved, but he kept going and out the door, which shut with a resounding thud behind him.

Sophie got up from her desk and walked back toward Stiles. "What's up?" he asked.

"I was reading through a few of the old hunter diaries at lunch," she said, pulling a little volume out of her bag. She handed it to Stiles, who flipped it open. _Not one I've read_, he thought. "It was written by an alchemist. He was one of the ones who helped kill the arez-grou. He writes a lot in here about doing things with blood. I think he kind of liked playing with it, actually."

"And you were reading about it at lunch?" Stiles asked. "And I thought the cafeteria food was vomit-inducing enough without help."

Sophie smirked, but otherwise ignored the joke. "He talks in here about how using blood mixed with chemicals against supernatural creatures had been _believed_ to weaken them," she continued. "Get a werewolf to drink a vampire's blood and the werewolf dies, that sort of thing."

"Wait, vampires are real, too?" Stiles said, scanning the pages further.

Sophie huffed, impatiently. "Yes, and they really do sparkle, too," she said. When Stiles gaped at her she huffed again. "_Of course not_. The point is that he makes reference to using blood against a supernatural creature only working _once_."

Stiles was just beginning to think that too much of his sense of humor had rubbed off on Sophie when her last sentence hit home. "You think he meant the arez-grou?" he asked.

"I asked Allison before class and she confirmed that you can't use blood against any other creature she's ever heard of. Not unless you mix it with something else first – give a person a shot of silver nitrate and feed her to a werewolf, for example – but that's not what this guy was talking about. He wanted to use the blood itself as a weapon without having to combine it with other things, and he said it only ever worked on one type of creature."

Stiles felt a light bulb bloom in the back of his head, but just as quickly it dimmed to a dull glow. "That rings a bell," he said. He grasped at the light from the light bulb, but whatever had triggered it was just out of reach. "But I can't remember what from." He looked up at her, a small smile forming his lips. "But I think you might have just saved all our lives."

She shook her head vigorously. "My own and my sisters' and maybe Lydia's," she said. "But Bealstock doesn't really care about you, does he? He's not a threat to you."

"Sure he is," Stiles said, sliding out of his seat and gathering his books. "If he's trying to hurt you, he's going to have to go through me. Which, you know, probably wouldn't be a big problem for him, which is why I appreciate you figuring this stuff out."

Stiles stopped, seeing a funny look forming on Sophie's face. "If he's trying to hurt me...?" she asked. She was looking at him as though from a great distance.

_Oh, crap_. "Well, yeah," Stiles said. "I mean, I care about you. I care about your sisters too. And Lydia. Let's not forget about Lydia."

Sophie shook her head, a bit more vigorously than Stiles would have thought necessary. "Of course not," she said, and Stiles could detect the slightest slur in her voice. "I haven't forgotten about Lydia. You and her were my first friends here. My only friends."

"Come on, that's not true," Stiles said. "Everyone else likes you fine."

"Declan passed on me for my sister," Sophie ticked off, her voice gaining back some strength. "Which is fine, they seem pretty happy. Curtis is, well, evil. Scott and Allison are always _way_ too distracted by their things to notice me. Need I go on?"

Stiles held up his hands. "No, that's okay," he said. He squared his shoulders towards Sophie. The littlest of the three nymphs somehow looked even smaller after the words she'd just uttered. "Look, Sophie, there's nothing wrong with you. All that stuff you just named off doesn't have anything in particular to do with _you_. You don't need to be defensive, and you don't need to be surprised that I care about you."

Sophie hung her head. "I just – after what I did to you – are you sure?"

Stiles stepped forward and clasped both of Sophie's shoulders. "We've talked about this," he reminded her. "I don't blame you for what happened. What happened, happened _to_ both of us. We were in it together then and we're in it together now. That hasn't changed."

Curiously, Sophie kept her head hung low for a moment more. Just as Stiles was wondering what was going on – should he say something else, maybe gently try to push her chin up so he could see her face? - she solved that problem by raising her eyes to meet his, slowly and languorously.

She seemed completely zoned out. "Sophie?" Stiles asked. "Is something wrong?"

Sophie shrugged out of the blue plaid work shirt she wore over her gray t-shirt, and before the shirt had even hit the floor her wings exploded outward, tipping over a couple of desks. Stiles went to take a step back but Sophie's hands closed over his own and her grip was _strong_.

Stiles felt his first thrill of fear as he realized what was going on. "Sophie, come out of it!" he hissed. "We're in the middle of school. We can't do this here. I mean, we can't do this _at all_, but we really can't do this here."

Stiles tried harder to pull away, but Sophie's grip increased in strength. He was held fast. She began pulling him closer, again with a languorous slowness that Stiles may have found attractive if not for the situation they were in. Stiles allowed his resistance to slacken to give himself a moment to think. He didn't think he was in _danger_, here, per say; while there was the ever-present possibility that succumbing to a nymph in a trance like this meant death at the end (as everyone had thought was always the case up until a couple of weeks ago), Stiles couldn't think of any reason that she'd have fucked him and not killed him last full moon, only to fuck him and kill him now.

Still, the fact that his life wasn't in danger didn't endear him to the idea of having sex, against his will, _again_. And on the day his already erstwhile not-quite-girlfriend was getting out of the hospital, for god's sake. "Sophie, please," Stiles said, even as Sophie transferred her right arm from his left arm to his hip, so quickly he didn't have time to react or use the momentary lapse in contact to his advantage.

Sophie was pulling him over, preparing to kiss him, and Stiles realized that he _wanted_ to kiss her, and were those the pheromones working on him he wondered, would he even be able to wonder if they were working on him if they actually were? But why else would he be standing here _on this day_ wanting to kiss someone so clearly _not Lydia_?

Stiles pushed these thoughts aside and made a last ditch effort to break Sophie's hold. Her face was only about a foot from his own and, up until that point, his attempts to get away hadn't put his full strength in, for fear of hurting her. This time he pushed with his all his might and twisted, trying to break the nymph's hold.

He succeeded, stumbling backward and falling to the floor. Sophie cocked her head at him, an extremely birdlike – and unnatural – motion. _It's not over_, Stiles thought. "Sophie, you have to fight this," Stiles pleaded. Sophie hadn't moved since he'd broken the hold but Stiles skirted backward on the floor anyway, hoping that the increased distance between them would help. "I know you don't want this either. You're stronger than this. Fight it!"

Again, Sophie didn't move. For a second Stiles wondered if this was a good sign, that she wasn't moving toward him aggressively anymore because some part of her conscious mind was rebelling against the rest of her body, but then, a moment later, the entire atmosphere of the room changed. It wasn't something he smelled so much as felt; the air around him changed quality instantly.

Sophie took a step forward. _Pheromones_, Stiles thought, feeling his head begin to swim. All the air in the room seemed to have turned into a soupy fog. But an awfully nice one. Stiles knew that he was resisting what was happening, but he felt awfully good and the girl walking toward him was so completely gorgeous that it wasn't like anything bad could happen, not really, right?

"Sophie," Stiles managed to choke out, while he could still remember how to speak. "Please. You know I care about you. You know it's – it's more than just as a friend. Don't ruin it. Please."

Stiles collapsed to the floor of the classroom, his conscious brain shutting down.

***[]***

Ironically, at the same time that Stiles' capacity for rational thought shut down, Sophie's started up again. She shook her head, dazed; she could recall her actions of the last few minutes, but as with the full moon she felt like she'd had no control over them. Her wings were extended – _in the middle of a classroom where anyone can see!_ - and Stiles lay on the floor in front of her, looking like a puppy dog who wanted to be scratched.

What the hell...?

It took Sophie all of five seconds to put all the pieces together. She'd gone into a trance and had clearly just dosed Stiles with her pheromones. All of their clothes were intact – Sophie felt down herself to verify that she was still wearing both shirt and pants, and a quick glance at Stiles confirmed that he was similarly dressed – so she hadn't gotten to _that_ stage of things, thank the goddess. But she still had her wings out, shining deep purple, and Stiles was still a blubbering mess on the floor in front of her.

_First thing's first,_ Sophie thought, and with some concentration retracted her wings into her back. Maybe it was the lingering feelings of the trance or maybe it was just her, but Sophie felt a slight pang of regret as her wings disappeared under the skin of her back. She always preferred having them out; it wasn't uncomfortable to hide them, exactly, but she felt better about herself with them out of their hiding place. Still, even a still-slightly-addled Sophie could recognize that this was totally not the place to be displaying her wings.

_And now for the second thing_, she thought, looking down at Stiles. The combination of muddled-confused and aroused was difficult to catalog now that Sophie was looking at it consciously. Stiles' head was bobbing slightly, like it was difficult for him to focus enough to keep it in one place. Every time his field of vision shifted to a different part of the classroom he gave it a confused look, like he wasn't sure where he was. Aside from this disoriented confusion, though, his body was screaming 'arousal!' at her at the top of its lungs. She could see a bulge in his pants and had to look away from him entirely for a full ten seconds after noticing it just to be sure she wasn't about to descend into a trance again.

When she looked again down at Stiles, he was staring up at her, wide-eyed. _I bet every girl on the planet wants a boy to look at them like that, at least once_, she thought, sourly. _And I have to be the one who doesn't want it. Great_. "Stiles?" Sophie asked. "Are you okay?"

"Please?" Stiles murmured.

Sophie shook her head. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said. Then she shook her head again. "Or, you know, anything else. It's passed. Are you okay to stand?"

"Please?" Stiles repeated, in the same tone of voice.

Sophie blanched as she took a step toward the young man. "Didn't you hear what I just said?" she asked, bending over to inspect him closer. "It's okay. It's over."

She reached out for him, hoping to be able to help him to his feet. Stiles seized her hand roughly and instead pulled her toward him. The motion was so unexpected that Sophie stumbled forward onto her knees in front of him. "Please?" he repeated. "Please fuck me?"

Sophie felt her eyes widen in shock and a little pain from where her knees had hit the floor. _He's dosed with sex pheromones_, she thought. _He's _really_ dosed with sex pheromones. Oh, goddess, don't let this happen._

Stiles still had a grip on her hand and was pulling it toward him, dragging her across the floor. He was staring at her hand as if in abject wonder, and Sophie felt her heart break slightly. _I did this to him,_ she thought. Then she shook her head. Focus on getting out of this situation first. Mourn the loss of another friend later.

Sophie tried, experimentally, to retract her hand, but Stiles just redoubled his efforts. After a second of thought, Sophie yanked hard on her arm, pulling it violently out of Stiles' grasp. Stiles looked up at her, confused. "Please?" he asked again.

"No, Stiles," Sophie said clearly, looking him directly in the eye and finding no recognition, only blind lust. "Not now. Not us. We have to go see Lydia, right?"

Sophie considered her surroundings as Stiles watched her. _Dr. Neeman keeps a bottle of water on his desk_, she thought. _Maybe a splash of water to the face would help bring him out of it?_

Sophie stood and turned to walk up to the front of the classroom, grimacing at the desks that had overturned and remembering vaguely that her wings had done it. She was halfway there when Stiles hit her from behind.

He wasn't trying to hurt her, she was reasonably sure, as she crashed to the floor of the classroom again; in his drug-induced zeal, though, a shoulder tackle was probably about the same as a hug, and both would accomplish his goal of having sex with her. As they both hit the ground, Sophie admonished herself for turning her back on him.

He immediately began pawing at the waistline of her jeans. His fingers succeeded in getting under the material quickly and he began pulling, trying to drag her pants down. _Think, Sophie!_ she thought, desperately. She tried to crawl away, toward the desk, toward the bottle of water which could prevent what she knew was coming, but when she stretched to move the straightening of her leg gave Stiles more leeway to tug on her jeans and she felt them starting to drag lower. Sophie changed tactics, trying to push Stiles off of her, but he was practically laying right on top of her and she didn't have the strength or the leverage to shove him away.

She tried again to move toward the desk but Stiles was holding her firmly down, whispering "Please?" over and over again in that same awful, muted voice, and she could feel one of his hands snaked around her waist to the buttons which held her jeans, and she knew that in a second he'd be tearing them off of her, and she had to do something drastic if she was going to prevent this from happening.

So she hit him with her wings.

Face down on the floor trying to prevent him from assaulting her, she didn't have any other weapons readily available. When her wings exploded again from her back they severed Stiles' grip on her, throwing him off. She whirled to her feet instantly, her wings flapping lightly to help. Stiles was on his back on the floor but recovering, sitting up, clearly mesmerized by her wings.

"Please, Stiles," Sophie murmured, feeling a tear forming in her eye. "I don't want to hurt you."

Stiles responded in kind, perhaps recognizing the only word he seemed to know anymore. "Please?" he asked, and lunged for her again. He was in midair when Sophie's foot connected with the side of his face, changing his course so that he landed head-first against an already upset desk.

Just as she'd been taught, Sophie completed the kick back into a ready posture, prepared to deliver another blow if necessary. It wasn't necessary. Stiles was down. Sophie unclenched her fists. _Good thing father was always paranoid about teaching us self-defense_, she thought. Just to be on the safe side, she retrieved Dr. Neeman's water bottle, ready to throw it in Stiles' face in case he tried going for her again.

Tentatively, she approached him. He was out cold on the floor, his head against the desk he'd hit, which had a slight dent in it from the impact. _Oh my goddess I've killed him_, Sophie thought, as she rolled him over onto his back. She dropped instantly down beside him and started shaking him. "Stiles! Stiles!" she said, but he wasn't responding. "Come on, don't be dead, don't be dead!"

A few minutes later, once she was able to rationalize effectively, Sophie would tell herself that she was trying to give him 'mouth-to-mouth,' despite not having checked to see if he was breathing. She was panicked, she would tell herself, and it was something she'd seen on TV, even though she didn't know how to do it herself. She just wanted to do something to help him.

One way or the other, she found her lips pressed firmly against Stiles'. She only realized what was happening a moment after it started. At first she didn't feel a response from the boy she was _not_ kissing, but then she felt him respond, pressing his face into hers and reaching over to rub at her leg. Once she was sure he wasn't dead and just spazzing in a cruel imitation of life, she pulled back. She was half expecting another 'Please?' and the resumption of their physical struggle, but the eyes that were looking back at her from the floor, while confused, also held intelligence and recognition. "Sophie?" Stiles asked. "What's going on?"

***[]***

_I've spent way too much time in hospitals_, Lydia thought, looking around at the hospital room she'd lived in for the past couple of weeks. Her parents had been by to bring home most of the things that had accumulated there – not much, actually – and she was waiting for them to get back. She'd also just phoned Scott to make sure that he wasn't coming to the hospital – while the FBI agents had helped smooth things over with her parents, they had still gotten a little twitchy around Scott, not the least of which because Lydia had never managed to fully explain her relationship with him.

She'd thought about waiting in the lobby, which would have let the hospital staff come in and clean up the room, but the idea of sitting there while people stared at the tied-off sleeve that should have held her right arm felt like a bit much for her right then. The nurses hadn't fussed over her asking to stay in the room until she left, telling her to take all the time she needed.

She'd used to think of Beacon Hills as a sleepy little town and figured the nurses probably still thought of it as such, so they probably rallied every chance they got to be nurturing to someone who'd actually gone through something horrible. Outside of little Jimmy Chandler's bike crash a couple years ago, they hadn't seen any youths in critical care in quite a while, if ever.

She was glancing at the clock – her parents had said to expect them back by four, and it was still only twenty past three – when there was a knock on the door to the room. "Uh," Lydia said. "Come in?"

The door opened and she was surprised to see Stiles walk through it, a tight, frustrated look on his face. She was even more surprised to see Sophie follow him, a similar look of frustration, mingled with a lot more fear, on her own face. "Hi, Lydia," Stiles said, lacking much of the bald adoration she usually heard in greeting from her nerdy not-quite-boyfriend.

"Hi, Stiles," she replied, knowing that her voice was tinged with surprise. She nodded to the nymph. "Sophie."

Sophie nodded back, apparently not wanting to speak.

For a second, the three of them just stood there. Both Stiles and Sophie seemed completely lost in their own thoughts. "Uh, can I help you with something?" Lydia asked. "You know I was going to come see you guys as soon as I could, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Of course. But this – we need to get this out in the open as soon as possible. For all our sakes."

Lydia glanced between the two of them. "Okay..." she said slowly. "You're freaking me out a little right now."

Stiles shook his head. "Don't be freaked out," he said, but his voice was about as reassuring as a rock in a drought. "Something just happened at school. Between us."

Lydia felt her eyebrows raise. _This is scenario five_, she thought to herself, remembering all the different scenarios she'd gone over – some with Scott, most private – about how seeing Stiles again would go. She'd liked scenario six the best herself, in which Stiles dropped to his knees on seeing her, weeping and begging for forgiveness and admitting that he really wanted to have sex with _her_, too.

Apparently that wasn't going to happen. Lydia steeled herself. "Okay," she said. "Tell me about it."

Sophie squeaked. "You can't possibly want to hear about it," she said, sounding even smaller than she looked, an impressive feat.

Lydia tossed her hair, a motion which she still had yet to re-master without the use of two hands. "I can," she said. "And I do. The three of us are intelligent individuals. We can work this all out rationally and in a civilized fashion, but we have to be honest about all the details in order to do so."

Sophie was shaking her head, clearly having trouble believing this. Lydia tried to smile for the nymph – she was clearly thinking that Lydia was going to wolf out and remove her head any second. _Even if that's what I wanted, it's not like I could_, she thought. Stiles was nodding. He looked over at Sophie. "I tried telling you on the car ride over that this is what we'd need to do."

Sophie shook her head. "I just can't believe that she wants to talk about all this," Sophie said. "I mean, in all this, I think we can all agree that she's the only blameless one."

Lydia quirked an eyebrow – from when she'd spoken the Sophie last, and to Scott about Sophie (promising her Alpha, as well, that she bore no particular dislike for the nymph who'd taken Stiles' virginity and wasn't planning to do anything to her), Lydia had gleaned that she didn't blame Stiles for any of what happened. What had changed? "Forget blame," Lydia said. "It's not going to get us anywhere. Not right now."

Stiles gave her a grateful look. _There's a little bit of the adoration_, Lydia thought. "This is going to be hard," Stiles said. "Really hard. I don't want to hurt either of you, and I keep feeling like in the end I'm going to hurt both of you."

Lydia blinked, steeling herself again. "Just say what you need to say," she said.

He nodded. "Okay," he said, clearing his throat. "Here goes. Lydia," he said, addressing the one-armed werewolf girl directly. "I've loved you since the day I saw you and even with everything that's happened lately that's never changed for a second. I still love you right now. It's funny, I've spent the last few months trying very hard not to come on too strong, but if we're laying it all out – there it is." Lydia nodded, compartmentalizing her reactions to these words to examine later. "Sophie," Stiles continued, turning to the nymph. Her physical reaction to Stiles' direct attention was an interesting contradiction; she shrank slightly from him, but inclined her face up to meet his eyes with an expression of hope and trust and, Lydia was sure, a not small amount of desire. "I like you a lot. I like you a lot more than as a friend, despite what we said about only being friends. You're funny and smart and I enjoy every minute we spend together. And I think a large part of the reason we almost just raped each other is that we haven't been honest about how we feel about each other. You because of your hangups about sex, me because of Lydia."

Sophie was nodding, her eyes tearing up. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I think you're right."

_Almost raped each other?_ Lydia thought. _What the hell kind of Twilight Zone world are we living in here?_ "So where does this leave us?" she asked.

"Exactly like we are," Stiles responded, sounding a little dejected. "Three people in a room without a clue."

Lydia huffed and tried to toss her hair again. _That's so much more dramatic when I don't look like a fool doing it,_ she thought. "Please," she said. "We have a few clues. And being three people in a room isn't such a bad thing."

"Uh," Sophie said.

"What?" Stiles asked.

Lydia rolled her eyes._ Do I really have to spell this out for them?_ "I'm not exactly conservative in my views on sex," she said. "Which I think both of you realize. So, I'm saying, maybe instead of spending any more time obsessing over trying to narrow this down to two people in a room, we just leave it at three people in a room and be happy with each other."

Both Sophie and Stiles stared at her until she started to feel uncomfortable. _At least neither of them is staring at my arm._ "Are you serious?" Stiles asked. "Remember, I don't have a lie detector built into my hearing like you do."

"Well, by all means, _ask_ if I'm lying to you, that's sure to help," Lydia responded, rolling her eyes again.

"What exactly do you mean?" Sophie asked, looking Lydia directly in the eye without flinching for the first time. _Good for her_, Lydia thought. _She could use a little more backbone_. "And can we stop with the room reference? It's confusing me."

Lydia nodded. "It's like this," she said, sitting down on the edge of her bed – somehow she figured that the nymph might find her less threatening if she were sitting and looking up to speak. "I thought over everything that happened two weeks ago. I lost a lot that night – beside my arm, I also lost the opportunity to be with Stiles for his first time. And I guess I've just lost the opportunity to be with him for his second time."

"What?" Stiles asked. "No. No, you didn't. Oh, you thought – that we – no! It didn't get that far."

Sophie shivered. "Not for lack of trying," she muttered. "On both our parts, no less."

Lydia's brow furrowed. "If you didn't – how could both have you been trying and it didn't happen?"

"You know, when you say it like that, it's about twenty times more embarrassing," Stiles replied after a moment, his face coloring. He jerked his thumb at Sophie. "She went into a trance and tried to jump me. I talked her out of the trance, but not before she'd hit me with a dose of pheromones. So by the time she came out of it, I was her zombie love slave. Her grabby zombie love slave, apparently, which she had to fend off with cranial trauma."

Lydia's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing under her hair. "Oh," she said. "Uh, sorry. Are you both okay?"

Stiles and Sophie looked at each other. "Confused as hell," Sophie replied. "But unhurt, I guess. I thought I'd killed him when I knocked him out."

Stiles shook his head. "Doesn't even hurt now," he said. "Well, maybe a little. But I'll be fine."

They all lapsed into silence and Lydia suddenly remembered that she'd been the one speaking. "Right, okay," she said. "So I guess that's not something lost. But anyway, the point is, I've already lost enough. I don't want to lose anything else, and I don't think I lose anything by you," this she directed as Sophie, "being a part of it. You seem nice enough and I know you never did anything to try and hurt me and, this is going to sound so tacky, and obviously Stiles likes you so there must be something there worth liking."

Sophie and Stiles were still staring at her. "Are you suggesting we _share?_" Sophie asked, utter incredulity dripping from the last word.

Lydia shook her head. "I don't want to put labels on it," she said. "What I want is for the three of us to be okay and get everything out of our lives that we want."

Sophie shook her head back. "That's easy enough," she said. "I don't want any of this. I never wanted it from the beginning and I don't want it now."

Stiles was looking at the floor. "Is that really true?" Sophie nodded vigorously at him. "Then why were you kissing me when I came to in the classroom?" Sophie froze, mid-nod, her stare now directed at Stiles. Stiles looked up at Lydia. She couldn't read his expression, other than to tell that he was concentrating very hard. He looked around at Sophie and met her eyes. "Like I said, I think that denying this is only going to make things worse."

She hung her head. "I have no idea what I'm doing," she said, sounding like she was just on the verge of tears.

Lydia glanced at the clock – the last thing she needed right now was for her parents to barge in while she was in the middle of setting up a non-monogamous relationship with a nerd and a weepy nymph – but they weren't due back for another ten minutes. "Neither do we, honey," she said, gently. "This is new territory for me. Caring is new territory for me. And you can bet that having two girls at once is new territory for Stiles."

"Damn right," Stiles nodded. He smiled at her, and Lydia returned the look, feeling some of the ice that had built up in her stomach since she'd found out about Sophie and Stiles melt. Not all of it, but some. "I'm kind of surprised about all this from you," Stiles admitted, still looking at Lydia. "You've never really struck me as the sharing type."

"Like I said, I am not conservative when it comes to sexuality," she said. She looked down at her arm, faltering as the bleak, empty feeling she'd tried so hard to push away for the last two weeks reared its head. "And with all that I've lost recently – if I can gain two people instead of one who care about me, I think I'm on board."

Sophie's head was still hung. She let out a single sob and looked up, tears running freely down her cheeks. She began striding over to Lydia. "I didn't mean to hurt you, honest," she said, wrapping her arms around the werewolf girl's body.

"I know," Lydia said, wrapping her single arm around Sophie in turn and patting her back. "It's okay. We're all going to be fine."

***[]***

Scott had been nearly jumping out of his skin by the time Lydia was being released. They'd agreed that he wouldn't show up at the hospital and that she would call that night, but when the call had come, it'd been from Stiles, not Lydia. Stiles had announced to Scott that he, Lydia, and Sophie would be coming to the McCall house for dinner around six and, before Scott could have figured out how to ask how _that_ trio had wound up together, had hung up.

He'd run the question by Allison and Bridget, who were playing chess in the living room, but both girls just shrugged helplessly.

So Scott had tried to banish the lingering feeling of doubt in the back of his head and had gone about ordering dinner – Thai, Lydia's favorite. By the time the doorbell rang – Scott could hear Lydia's, Stiles', and Sophie's familiar heartbeats behind the door – the food was laid out on the kitchen table buffet-style with a stack of clean plates next to the boxes.

Scott pulled the door open to reveal Lydia, Stiles, and Sophie, standing in a close huddle. When Lydia saw Scott she smiled deeply and strode forward. Scott wrapped his arms around her in a hug, careful not to disturb the stump where her right arm had been, and even lifted her into the air and whirled her around once. Stiles and Sophie followed in close behind her, both smiling widely. Scott noticed this and sent his best friend a quizzical look, but Stiles didn't react in any noticeable way.

"Come on in," Scott said to Lydia. "We ordered Thai in your honor. None of us were really sure how to pronounce 'Goong Pad Pla Mouk,' but unless there's something else on the menu that sounds a lot like it I think we've got it and about a half dozen other things."

Scott could both smell and hear the mouth-watering reaction Lydia had to this news, facts which he figured she'd be less embarrassed to have kept private. "Nothing but hospital food for two weeks," she said quietly, probably figuring out that Scott could read her reaction like a book. She walked quickly into the kitchen. "I'm starved."

They let Lydia make selections first, an act which made her hesitate out of self-consciousness for a half second, long enough only for Scott to notice, but then she'd dug in with zeal. Everyone else grabbed plates too and soon all of them, Scott, Allison, Declan, Bridget, Sophie, Lydia, Stiles, Nia and Gunther were arrayed around the McCall living room, laughing and trying bits of foods that only Lydia could pronounce.

"It's good to have you home," Scott muttered, so that only Lydia could hear.

She smiled back at him. The smile caused a slight pang in Scott's chest; he wasn't looking forward to the conversation he was going to have to have with her.

Once dinner was over and the crowd had dispersed – Gunther in particular rushed out, looking for a bathroom, citing a rising feeling of sickness from "one of those damned noodle contraptions" - Scott pulled Lydia aside. "Can we talk?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah," she said, catching his serious tone and matching it.

He caught her remaining hand and drew her out to the backyard. Once they were outside, he started talking. "You seem to be doing better," he said.

"Yeah," she said. "I am."

_This is so going to suck_. "Have you tried shifting?"

"Not since the last time we talked about it," she said, giving him a surprised look. "And you know how that went. Sudden overwhelming pain, no transformation."

Scott nodded. "Yeah," he said. "We need to fix that. If for no other reason than that you need to be able to defend yourself."

"What'd you have in mind?"

Scott sighed. "I got over whatever it is about Bealstock that keeps us from shifting by having sex with Allison," he said.

_She's more than smart enough to put the pieces together. _"So you want me to have sex with Allison?" Lydia asked. "No offense, Scott, but I think you'd get more out of that than I would. She's not my type."

Scott rolled his eyes. "You don't need to have sex with Allison," he said. A little voice in the back of his head started asking if perhaps he shouldn't be _too_ hasty in making that statement, but he quashed it. "But, well, you should at least try, with someone. Anyone."

Lydia grinned at him. "Oh, I get it," she said. "You're hitting on me? Finally started thinking the 'sister' thing is a turn on, huh? I think Declan and Bridget are rubbing off on you."

Scott rolled his eyes again. "No way you'll be serious about this, huh?"

Lydia strolled over to the target Allison had set up against one of the cypress trees. She played for a moment with one of the holes, which was dead center in the middle of the target. Come to think of it, there were only one or two small holes outside the bullseye. "I'm plenty serious," she said. "I mean, not about you being the one to do it. You think I didn't come to the same conclusion after you told me what happened last time? It's taken care of."

"You mean – you already - ?"

"No," Lydia said, turning back to face him. "Not yet. But Stiles, Sophie, and I had a little heart to heart...to heart, and I think we'll be okay."

"What does Sophie have to do with it?" Scott asked, confused.

"Are you forgetting what happened the night I lost my arm?" Lydia asked, turning back to face him and letting her hand slip off the target.

"No, of course not," Scott said. "But Stiles wouldn't – I mean, he reacts to her still, but I figured that was just a guy thing, like, 'Hey, you made my penis happy, I remember that.'"

It was Lydia's turn to roll her eyes. "No, he's into her," she said. "And I'm working on being okay with that."

"Wait, now I'm confused," Scott said, mulling over her last words. "He's into her, you're trying to be okay with that, but you've still got it in the bag that you're going to sleep with someone? Am I missing something here? You didn't call Jackson, did you?"

"Of course not," Lydia said. "From what you said, I actually have to _enjoy_ the sex in order for this to work"

Scott gave her a quizzical look. "He couldn't have been that bad."

"There's a reason they don't make dildos in extra-small, Scott. Jackson has yet to figure out why that is."

Scott laughed. "Okay, fine, no Jackson, got it," he said. "So what am I missing?"

"I'm going to have sex with Stiles _and _Sophie."

_What?_ Scott couldn't help the moment where his jaw fell open. "Are you serious?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm serious," Lydia said. Seeing the look of shock, surprise, and the beginnings of suspicion on his face, she held up her hand, then glanced in annoyance at the stub of her right arm. _That geture's usually done with two hands._ Despite the interruption, she continued. "Look, I know what you're thinking. This isn't a revenge thing. I guess I'd _kind_ of like Stiles to notice that I'm better at it than she is, but that's really minor in the grand scheme of things."

"And that still doesn't explain why - "

"Because I get something back this way," Lydia blurted. She felt her face getting hot and desperately ignored the sensation. "I told them both about how I want us all to be okay, and I meant that. But it's not okay with me that they'd done this together without me. So, at least once, I want us all to do it, because then I've had what they've had and we're back on the same footing. And it's not like I could say that directly to them, because hello, hypocritical, I've done _loads_ of stuff that Stiles never was a part of..."

"The difference being that I doubt Stiles wants to have anything more to do with Jackson's 'extra-small dildo' than you do right now," Scott observed, wryly. His voice softened though when he asked the next question. "Are you sure you're okay with this? I mean – I didn't know you were into girls, let alone Sophie."

Lydia waved him off, a motion that somehow once again accented the fact that she had only one arm to do so. "It's not a big deal," she said. "I'm not particularly attracted to other girls, but the thought hardly horrifies me, either. It's like I told them, right now I'm trying to stay open to finding as much positive as possible in the world."

Scott nodded, and then grinned. "And you're going to do this through group sex," he said. "I wonder if Allison..."

"Don't even finish that sentence."


	24. A Whole New World

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've pretty much abandoned the idea of handing out warnings about sexual content – if you've made it this far than you're probably okay with it – but I still feel kind of obligated to mention that this chapter is _full_ of sex. As in, I'm a little worried that people will think it's just senseless pornography. I don't think it is – not that I have anything against porn – but I'll leave the rest up to my lovely readers. Enjoy.

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

The next morning, Scott awoke to find Allison already awake, sitting on the edge of their bed and staring out the window. When he followed her gaze he didn't see anything in particular except dark clouds, it should have been getting light out by that time of the morning, so he sat up next to her – she shifted her posture slightly to lean back into him – and stroked her hair. "Thinking deep thoughts?"

"When I tell you what I'm thinking about, you're going to think that's the worst double entendre ever," Allison replied, still looking through the window.

"The worst what?" Scott replied.

"Never mind," Allison said, turning away from the window to look at him.

_ You'd think by now that I'd have gotten used to those eyes_, Scott thought, even as he pushed away the mild annoyance that came with the same response he always got for not knowing something. Allison's eyes were enormous and so deep – _there's that word again. _"What are you thinking about?" Scott asked.

Allison grinned, a little sheepish, and even blushed. _I haven't seen her blush in this bed since the time I asked her to – no, not even then, that was more of a nervous giggle. What can this be about?_ "Lydia and Stiles and Sophie," she replied._ Ah._ "Do you think – I don't know, do you think it's _healthy_?"

"Group sex?" Scott asked, shifting his position to wrap his arms around Allison's shoulders. She wore one of his t-shirts – she'd taken to wearing them to bed since they covered more of her than her own shirts, but not as much as if she wore pants. "Sure. Lots of exercise."

Allison dug an elbow into Scott's stomach. The playful attack, he reflected, probably would have hurt anyone who wasn't supernaturally durable. _Guess we really were made for each other_. "You know that's not what I mean," she said.

"Yeah," Scott replied. This time he found himself gazing idly out the window, searching for an answer to the question he'd only managed to put aside the night before once Allison had taken her clothes off and laid down on the bed. It'd started to rain outside; Scott sniffed at the air and could tell that it was going to be quite a storm. "I don't know," he continued, after a moment. "God, I wish I knew. I don't know how to help any of them. Lydia's hanging onto every little thing that could even possibly be good, but what happens when something _not_ good comes along? She was practically in hysterics again last night when I asked her why she'd do something like this. Stiles is hanging onto this choice of hers because – I don't know, it keeps him from having to choose between them? I feel like I'm not deep enough for this."

Allison smiled at him and ran her own hand through his hair. "You're doing fine," she said. Then her brow furrowed. "Do you actually think he'd have to choose? Like, is there any doubt who he'd pick?"

Scott shook his head, Allison's hand still in his hair, which tugged slightly at his scalp because of the motion. "I don't think there's much doubt," he said. "He'd pick Lydia. But he really likes Sophie – Lydia herself confirmed it and I think she's right – and he doesn't want to hurt her, and with all the issues she has with sex, if the one guy she's done it with, who also happens to be the one guy she's even considering doing it again ever with, told her to get lost, I think it'd mess her up pretty bad. And that might even mess with Lydia and Stiles – it's not like Sophie, or her sisters or Declan or Gunther, are going anywhere anytime soon, so if they have to see the mess they make of her everyday, that could screw up their relationship."

Allison extracted her hand from Scott's hair. "Things were easier for them when their relationship was about Stiles blindly adoring everything about her, wasn't it?"

"Sure," Scott said, giving Allison a quizzical look. "I think we can relate to how relationships tend to get more complicated over time, can't we?"

Allison laughed. "Yeah," she said.

Scott felt a moment of self-consciousness. "But it's better now, right?" he asked. "Than before. Our relationship is better than it was before – you know, all that stuff happened that messed us up?"

Allison pretended to consider. "Well, the sex is good," she said. She smiled wickedly. "Okay, _fine_, if you need me to be honest – the sex is _amazing_."

Scott made a face and let his hands fall to her sides. "If that's the way you're going to be..." he said, and began tickling her.

Allison shrieked. "Ah!" she said, pushing herself vainly back against Scott to try and break his grip. "Stop it! Ack, no fair, you have super strength!"

"Are you suggesting I _let_ you tickle me back?"

Allison managed to twist around enough even as her body continued to jerk slightly from Scott's tickling. Her eyes had watered up quickly from laughter. "Yes."

Scott began to let up on the pressure in his arms, allowing Allison to twist her whole body around to face him. She was pressed firmly against his torso. When she'd finished turning herself around completely, she pulled back slightly – Scott instantly missed the contact of her chest on his – and reached for him. He didn't even bother to brace himself for tickling; he could tell that neither of them was thinking about that anymore.

With almost perfect timing, a crack of thunder sounded as Allison's hand made contact with Scott's chest, and as with every other time she'd touched him like this, it felt like the first time. He pulled her closer again, pressing her body against his, which also pressed her hand more firmly into his chest, and he kissed her.

A moment later they pulled apart slightly. "I need you," Scott breathed, and it was true; every inch of his body was screaming for hers.

Evidently she felt the same way because she immediately reached for the hem of the shirt she was wearing and tried to peel it over her head with such urgency that it got stuck and she practically had to tear it to get it off. Scott, meanwhile, slipped out of the boxer shorts he was wearing – he was pretty sure he did hear those tear, but couldn't have cared less – and once they were both naked he reached for her again at the same moment she reached for him.

She tried to push him back onto the bed but he resisted the motion, reaching forward to kiss her again while they were both sitting up. She moaned slightly against his lips and rocked her hips, which were just in contact with his crotch, and Scott felt fire surge through his entire body again, starting at that location.

Scott felt his claws beginning to elongate, and as soon as Allison noticed, she did what she'd been doing the past several nights when Scott had begun to shift during sex; she grabbed his hand, backed up slightly, and placed his hand, fully-stretched out, over one of her breasts. Knowing what she was looking for, Scott closed his hand gently but firmly, adding pressure to her breast itself and cutting just slightly into the skin around it with his lengthening claws. He had a moment to wonder how she didn't have cuts or scars in that area from the last several times he'd done just this, but then she threw her head back, tossing all her hair behind her, and moaned his name, and he forgot to think about anything.

Her face came back down, and she was staring at him so hard that he was afraid he might be lit on fire by it, and his claws were still in her skin and he wasn't being as gentle as he had tried to be previous and a little trickle of blood was actually coming from one of the cuts, and when she looked at him she said, "I want you inside me," and he'd quickly withdrawn his claws from around her breast and placed that hand on her hip and then circled his other arm around behind her back and had pulled her in closer to him until he slid into her, with both of them still sitting up, and she began rocking her hips again and moaning louder and whispering, again and again, "I want you inside me...I want all of you inside me..." and Scott felt his hair lengthening as he breathed harder and harder and his eyes were glowing because he could see them reflected in Allison's own eyes and her mouth was open in one long, drawn out moan and he could feel himself growling too and it was building and then it was _just too much_.

And he bit her.

The motion was, by that point, completely involuntary. He simply reached down and latched onto the space between Allison's shoulder and her neck with his elongated fangs, and they sank into her skin as though there'd been no resistance, just slid straight in until Scott could feel his gums in contact with her skin, and he heard Allison gasp and his brain almost came out of the haze it'd been in, enough for him to start to pull back, but then he felt Allison's hand move quickly to the back of his head and press him in closer, and he growled against her skin and she kept bucking her hips and a second later both of them hit their climax, Scott growling against her, Allison moaning so loud it was more of a shout.

A moment later, he felt her wobble – she'd lost some blood, between the cuts on her chest and what he was still doing to her neck – and instantly his wolf form faded away. Scott collapsed backward, panting from the exertion, but they'd moved closer to the center of the bed as they'd had sex and Scott hit the wall with his shoulder blades, keeping him propped up, his naked, bleeding girlfriend still in his lap.

Slowly, she reached up to touch the deep gouges next to her neck, and both of their eyes went wide.

"What did I...?" Scott began, but trailed off.

"Oh my God," Allison breathed. She looked down at him with – what was that look? _I think I might have just legitimately gone insane._ "You bit me."

"I bit you," Scott repeated, staring at the wounds. They weren't bleeding as much as they should have – was that normal for a bite from an Alpha? He struggled to remember his own bite, to remember if he'd bled a lot or not. "I just turned you into a werewolf."

"Oh...my God," Allison said again, dabbing at the wound. She looked down at it herself and swallowed, hard. "Um," she said. "It doesn't hurt. I mean, it stings a little. Is it – supposed to hurt?"

Scott shook his head. A cacophony was building in the back of his skull, making it hard for him to think; most of the voices belonged to Allison's parents and aunt, which was doubly distracting since he and Allison were both still naked. "I don't know," he said. "I can barely remember getting bitten myself. Feels like it was years ago."

"What do we do?"

Scott felt a harsh laugh escape him. "Guess it's too late to tell you to get away from me, huh?"

Allison's eyebrows knit together in concern instantly. "What? What are you talking about?"

Scott found her eyes and tried to suppress the madness that was threatening to overtake his brain, at least long enough to do what was necessary by his girlfriend. In the last few moments since he'd realized what he'd done, he'd questioned everything from the existence of God to whether he could really claim to love her at all, but he _knew_ he loved her enough to at least do this much. "Everything your father had said to us," he said, feeling a rising note of hysteria in his voice. "Everything _Kate_ said to us for Chirstsake, and we didn't listen to them, and _God we even convinced your father that we were okay_, and now this. What do we do? There's only one thing that can happen now. _You're going to become a werewolf_."

Allison swallowed again, looking down Scott as he continued to struggle against his descent into insanity. "But what do I _do_?"

She sounded so small that for a second the feeling that he was losing it receded. Scott looked up at Allison and her eyes were still gigantically round. Her body was rigid, except that one of her fingers was still toying with the deep gash in her shoulder. There was something off about how rigid her body was. _It doesn't seem natural_, Scott thought, wildly, even though there wasn't really any basis for the the thought. _Swallow that_, he thought, taking a shuddering gulp of air. _She needs you. Her boyfriend and – and her Alpha_. "It won't be really bad until the full moon," Scott began. "You also won't be able to access all your abilities until then." He tried to push aside an image of Allison with glowing eyes and shaggier hair – a part of him that he hated with all the virulence he could muster found the image arousing, and the last thing he wanted was for Allison to think that he was turned on by the situation with which they were now faced. "And from there – I think you pretty much know the rest. Enhanced hearing, enhanced scent, enhanced strength, enhanced durability. Tendency to transform whenever you get angry, until you learn how to control it. And a complete loss of control every full moon." Allison was nodding, looking as though all of this was information she didn't already know. _It's so much different when it's you_, Scott thought. He reached up to stroke her face. "Look, whatever you want to do, I'll support you, okay?"

"I appreciate that," Allison said, distracted. Then her brow knitted again. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, struggling to get the words out. They felt like broken glass on his throat. "If you want to stay, you're part of the pack. Derek always said it's safer for werewolves in packs, that being out by yourself is much more dangerous. Then again, everything Derek 'knew' about being a werewolf didn't exactly help him much in the end. But if you want to go...I'm sure your parents know places that they could keep you safe, safer than this town, that's for sure..."

Allison reached down herself and stroked Scott's face. "You think I might actually want to leave?" she asked.

"Um," Scott replied, his eyes flying around the room, doing everything in their power to avoid Allison's. "Let's take three guesses whose fault it is you're in this situation at all. You'd be crazy not to want to leave."

"Then I must be crazy," Allison replied, and the gentleness in her voice seemed to soothe both of them. At the very least, Scott felt the rigidity in her posture ease, and his eyes stopped rolling around the room. "I wanted it, Scott. I've wanted it for months. I told you I would have gone along with it the first night we had sex, and that didn't change. It wasn't different when we woke up this morning, and it wasn't different when I felt you bite me and pushed you in further, and it's not different now. Us being together is what matters most to me and, as crazy as it is, _this_ is probably the best way for that to work."

Scott took a deep breath. "Maybe you're not crazy," he said. "Maybe you're _mated_."

"And you're _not_?" Allison asked, not missing a beat. "I could tell just now how much it cost you to offer me the chance to leave. I read somewhere once that if you love someone, if you really love someone, you have to love them enough to let them go if that's what's best for them. You love me like that, don't you?"

Scott felt horror flashing across his face. _Is it even possible that she doesn't know that?_ "Of course I do," he said. "I love you – I don't know, I don't even know what to compare it to. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone or anything."

"So you're _mated_ too, whatever that really means," Allison continued. "I don't care anymore. I love you. I want to be with you. Maybe what just happened wouldn't have happened if that wasn't the case, but so what. It happened. We're still here, and I still love you – as a matter of fact I love you more, because I can tell how much it hurt you to suggest that I leave, and you did it anyway because some twisted part of your brain thought it might be best for me. What's best for me – and don't you think for a _second_ that anyone other than me gets to decide this – is to be with you. My...my lover, and _my Alpha_."

"I was..." Scott started, but had to stop for a moment, his voice was shaking so much. "I was scared."

"Me too," Allison replied, climbing off of him so that she wasn't straddling him anymore. They'd been like that but not moving enough that their skin had stuck to together slightly. She climbed around to lay on the bed, curled up against him, her head resting on his chest, which was still at an angle as he laid against the wall. "I think all changes are a little scary at first, right?"

"All changes," he laughed, a short sound. "Cutting your hair is 'scary at first.' Becoming a werewolf is a little more than that."

"Okay, _fine_," Allison said. "It was really scary. But I'm okay. I'll be okay. Just stay with me."

***[]***

They'd cuddled like that for another hour, talking as idly as possible about what to expect and what would be different – Allison hadn't admitted out loud how much she was looking forward to what sex would be like now that she would be closer to matching Scott's strength, grace, and stamina, but it had occurred to her and, once she'd talked Scott down off the mental ledge he'd climbed on, she'd thought about jumping him again, but had decided against it. _No need to rush_, she reminded herself, as she got changed into a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt which would conceal the bite marks after her shower.

Before everyone had parted ways the night before, Stiles had asked that everyone meet up at the McCall house – he and Sophie had made a breakthrough. _Aside from their breakthrough involving therapeutic group sex_, Allison thought, picking up her hair brush and beginning to work on the tangles. _I wonder when they'll get around to that? We need Lydia back at full strength._ After Stiles' announcement, phone calls had been made, which is why Allison was preparing, not just to see Gunther and Declan and Bridget and Sophie and Nia and Stiles, but also Dr. Deaton, and, much worse, her father and Kate.

_What on Earth am I going to say to them...?_ she thought, putting the hair brush down on one of the tables in Scott's room. _Do I dare to just not tell them? Of course not. They'll notice eventually. Not telling them is a recipe for disaster. Maybe wait until neither of them is armed? When are they not armed?_

Allison spent so much time lost in thought that Scott got back from his own shower. She'd eyed him as he removed his towel and began picking clothes out of his closet and felt a familiar feeling tugging at her from between her legs, but she ignored it. _Not now_, she thought. _Wouldn't exactly do to have my father show up while we're having sex and then find out that I'm a werewolf now._

_I'm a werewolf now. A year ago that would have sounded ridiculous._

By the time she and Scott got downstairs, everyone else – including her father and her aunt – were already there. Allison had gone to open her mouth to greet her family, but before she could get a word out she realized that at the sight of her, Kate had gone stiff as a board and was staring at the spot where Scott had bit her.

Allison stopped short on the stairs; only Scott's supernaturally enhanced speed kept him from bumping into her and knocking her sprawling. She glanced down at the spot, but it was firmly covered by a t-shirt and the plaid over-shirt, and the bandage she'd applied was neither bulging against the fabric noticeably nor leaking blood. _How the hell can she tell?_

Chris was looking curiously from Kate, who was clearly disturbed by the sight of her niece, to Allison, who was clearly disturbed at the reaction she was getting from Kate and was trying very hard not to look guilty. After a moment of staring at the spot, Kate's eyes slowly inched up toward Scott, who was still standing behind her on the stairs, and slowly her lips pulled back into a snarl.

_That's not good_.

Kate reached for the gun she kept in her waistband. The move was so unexpected that Chris didn't have time to move toward her before she'd squeezed off a pair of shots at Scott's head. Luckily, Scott hadn't lost all of the paranoia he'd used to survive around the Argents prior to his reconciliation with Allison; he was on guard just enough to duck the shots and pull Allison off the stairs and into the kitchen, away from the living room where Kate stood with a smoking gun and livid hatred plastered all over her face.

Allison and Scott crashed to the kitchen floor, a result of Scott's hurried dive out of the way, just as she heard her father yell, "Kate! What the hell!"

"He fucking _marked_ her," Kate hissed, and the litany of voices that had lit up at Kate's unexpected attack died completely. _Oh God, how could she tell?_

Slowly, everyone from the other room filed into the kitchen, standing around where Scott and Allison lay on the floor, completely frozen. Her father had his own gun out but, mercifully, wasn't pointing it at anyone. Kate had been relieved of her own firearm; Allison noticed that Declan was holding it, but looking between her and Scott with a worried expression. Even Nia, who had taken to floating around the house the last several weeks without interacting directly with anyone, looked frightened.

"Scott," Chris said, the effort it was taking to keep his voice even evident on his face. "Please explain to me what my sister is talking about."

"Uh," Scott said, looking up at Chris, and Allison was seized by an old, familiar fear that _this_ was going to be the time that her father finally killed the young Alpha. "I – I mean, it wasn't - I didn't, not on purpose - "

"He _bit_ her," Kate hissed. She looked almost snake like, her face a mask of utter hatred, her body contorted in ways that couldn't have been comfortable, a mixture of disgust and – what else was there in her posture? Allison couldn't tell.

"Scott," Chris repeated, his grip on his self control apparently slipping. "_Please_ explain to me what my sister is talking about."

"I - "

Breathing out slowly, Allison stepped into the conversation, breaking the frozen feeling in her limbs to sit up and face her father. "Why do you keep asking him, Dad?" she asked. "Why not ask me?"

"Fine," Chris Argent said shortly, turning his gaze on his daughter. _First Scott almost goes crazy, now my dad,_ she thought, examining the crazed look in his eye. "Would you like to explain what happened?"

She shook her head. "You know what happened," she said. "We've all known what was going to happen in the end, didn't we? We heard you and Kate talking about 'mating,' Dad. We know all about it. What did you _think_ was going to happen?"

Before Chris could reply, Kate laughed, a high, hysterical sound. Allison turned her gaze toward her aunt. As crazy as both Scott and Chris had looked already that day, it was nothing compared to Kate. Her aunt's eyes were bulging and her fists were clenched so tight that blood was leaking through her fingers and her hands were actually shaking. "You know all about it?" she asked, practically a shriek. "You know _all about it_. You don't know a _damn thing_ about it."

Allison couldn't help but feel a little of the anger she'd felt toward her aunt for weeks bubble up inside her. "Suppose you explained it to me, then."

Chris opened his mouth to say something – again, Allison couldn't have begun to guess what her father was about to say – but Kate again beat him to it. "Fine, you want to know? It's what they _do _to you, little girl, it's what makes you _love_ them so much, it's what makes you want to be bitten and made into their – their – _baby factories_!"

Chris looked furious at having been interrupted twice, and was already opening his mouth to interrupt Kate, when the words she'd just uttered began to register. He stopped and looked at Kate. "Wait, what?" he asked, the confusion in his words mirroring what everyone else, Allison herself included, was feeling.

"It's not like you had a choice," Kate continued, apparently oblivious to the rest of them staring at her. "You think you had a choice but you really didn't. You think you're the one who's in control, but you're not. He's the one who's making it all happen, it's _his fault..._"

"Katherine, please start making sense," Chris said, looking hard at her. "I need to know what - "

He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence. Kate lunged for him. "_Don't you ever fucking call me that!_"

She swiped at Chris' face with her hands, as though they had claws. They didn't, in strictest point of fact, but they did have nails, which still cut her father's face. Chris was so shocked by the attack – _when are we going to _stop_ being surprised at Kate trying to hurt us?_ - that he didn't fight back. Again, only Scott was fast enough; as Kate grabbed Chris by the throat, the Alpha sprang from the floor and shoulder tackled her, knocking her away before she could do any permanent damage.

Kate sprawled on the floor. Allison saw Chris' gaze pass over Scott once, a 'thank you' dangling on his lips, but the gravity of the situation prevented him from wasting words on pleasantries. Allison climbed quickly to her feet to stand beside Scott as everyone changed positions, crowding around Kate, who'd curled in on herself. "Aunt Kate?" Allison asked, and seeing the utterly pitiful state of her aunt she felt the first real empathy for the woman that she'd felt in a long time. "Please tell us what happened to you. We need to know."

Kate was shaking her head, slowly but firmly. "I don't want to talk about it," she said. "I haven't – I haven't talked about it in a long time."

"Please," Allison said, breaking off from Scott and crouching next to her aunt. She could feel Scott stiffen slightly – he clearly didn't like the idea of her being that close to Kate when Kate was in a murderous mood – but that was too bad. Right now they needed her answers.

Allison laid a hand on Kate's shoulder and when Kate looked up at her, she didn't have the eyes of a grown woman, but rather those of a scared teenage girl. She was crying. "It was – I was sixteen," she said. "We came here because there was a family. A family of werewolves."

"The Hales," Allison said, and Kate nodded.

"The Hales," she repeated. Every few words she hiccuped through the tears that were flowing down her face. "We didn't find anything wrong with them. Dad was – he was angry about that. He wanted to get rid of them and move on, but they weren't hurting people as far as we could tell. So he asked me to get close to one of them to get him to admit _something_ that they'd done wrong."

"Derek," Allison prodded.

Kate nodded again. "Derek," she said. "He was about my age, really quiet and reserved. Dad said – Dad said that any teenage boy like that, werewolf or no, was carrying around a lot of repressed – repressed sexuality. He said – Dad said, _that's our in_."

There were a couple of stifled gasps around the room. Out of the periphery of her vision, Allison saw her father bury his face in his hands. "Your father made you have sex with Derek?"

Kate nodded, the motion seemingly having become the only thing she could do effectively with her body. "He said it was for the greater good," she said. "He said that hunters are asked to do all kinds of things they don't like for the cause and this would just be one of them. He said – he said I'd be stronger for it, because I was the one using Derek, I was the one who would win in the end."

"And then what happened?"

"I had sex with Derek," she replied. _Usually such an obvious question would get a sarcastic answer from Kate_, Allison thought. _I think she's finally broken completely_. "I tried to – you know, not care much at first. But then he was – he was nice to me. And I thought, _if he's nice to me, maybe he's just nice, period_, and I told Dad, and he didn't like that, kept saying 'Katherine, you have to try harder,' so I kept doing it and trying to get more and more out of Derek, and Derek told me _everything_ about his family, about how they locked themselves up in the secret room below ground to keep themselves from hurting people. And I told Dad and he was angry, he was so angry, and he told me that I'd let myself be used by a _thing_ and that I was a failure and I wasn't supposed to _love_ Derek, he wasn't worth loving, he was just a _thing_ himself and I tried to make myself not love him and I tried to make them animals and I killed them, I burned them all in that place where they were hiding from what they were because they needed to be killed, they needed to, they..."

She trailed off and the tears took over, great, wracking sobs shaking her whole body. Allison put her arms around her Aunt's shoulders and felt Kate's head collapse onto her own shoulder. Allison considered whispering something to her aunt to calm her, to make her feel better, but nothing seemed appropriate. It wasn't okay and it wouldn't be okay, from any standpoint, ever again. Everyone was still standing around watching Kate, looks of horror on their faces. Bridget had buried her face in Declan's shoulder and he was stroking her hair softly. Sophie, Nia and Stiles were standing next to each other, identical shocked looks on their faces. Lydia's face, and indeed her entire posture, was a study in disgust and confusion. Gunther was trying to look calm, but he kept shooting glances at Bridget and Declan, and every time he did there was the smallest note of pain in his eyes. Scott and Deaton were probably taking it the best of them, standing with stoic if still worried expressions on their faces. Allison' father was looking at his sister through his hands, which were still gripping his face so tight his knuckles were white. After a moment, the sobs subsided enough that Allison thought it might be okay to ask her aunt the question she really needed an answer to. "Aunt Kate?" she asked, tentatively. "What is mating? Really?"

Kate gulped, swallowing her last sob. "It's how they have babies with humans," she said, again sounding a lot younger than she actually was. "Derek explained it to me after the first time he shifted while we – you know. He was so embarrassed. You see, it's not safe for human women to have werewolf babies, so if werewolves want to have kids, they either need to have their kids with other werewolves, which I guess doesn't work that often, or they need to _mate_ with a human and – I don't know how it works exactly, but all the sex – I don't know, it changes you, somehow."

"This makes sense," Dr. Deaton said, and instantly all eyes, even Kate's, swung toward him. Deaton himself was staring determinately at the floor, apparently lost in thought. "Werewolves transform people into werewolves by bites. Even the nightmares they give by cutting with their claws entail the transfer of bodily tissue from the werewolf directly to the inside of the person. Sexual contact, especially unprotected sexual contact, transfers tissue from the male werewolf to his female, human partner, which, given the other examples, could very likely lead to some unique form of metamorphosis. Now, some animals in nature actually require that the female of the species undergo a physical transformation in order to bear children. If werewolves have to have human partners to reproduce, but a regular human partner would be physically unfit to carry and birth werewolf children, it stands to reason that werewolves would evolve the ability to trigger a change in human females that would allow them to carry werewolf children to term without turning them all the way into werewolves." He looked up at Kate. "Fascinating. I wonder. Did Derek happen to mention _when_ - "

"Yes," Kate cut the doctor off. "Only on the full moon."

"What?" Allison asked. "Full sentences, please."

"It's all beginning to make sense," Deaton said, a smile as big as sunrise on his face. _I'm glad _somebody_ is happy right now._ "Male werewolves are only fertile on the full moon. The madness and transformation on the full moon, it isn't a defense mechanism – it's a mating drive. Since it's so difficult for werewolves to reproduce amongst themselves, they'd need an extra push to make sure they're trying more often, so once a month they're driven quite mad and can't help but engage in a lot of close physical contact."

"So you mean, when Lydia and I were locked in the school basement those times..." Scott interrupted, looking over at the one-armed werewolf girl with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

Deaton smirked at him. "I wouldn't feel bad about it, Scott – you two would have remembered anything truly inappropriate. But still, I'd say that what you got up to in the basement those times was the werewolf equivalent of foreplay."

Scott shook his head. "Weird."

Allison, meanwhile, had felt her blood run cold. "You said guy wolves are only fertile on the full moon?" she asked. When Kate nodded a confirmation, Allison felt the blood, cold or not, run clean out of her face. "So when Scott and I had sex on the last full moon...and the one before that...am I pregnant?"

Chris picked his head up out of his hands, a fresh look of worry crossing his face, but Kate quashed the problem instantly. "No," she said. "No, Derek didn't think a human girl could get pregnant by a werewolf until the mating process was completed. Which is when he bites you. Which, unless I'm mistaken, Scott only did this morning."

"How do you _know_ that?" Allison asked, turning to her aunt, both to address her questions better to her and to avoid the uncomfortably awkward looks everyone else were throwing each other. "I covered the bite marks so well. I even had Scott check and he said he wasn't able to tell there was a bandage or a bite mark under my clothes, and he has super senses."

"When you look at me," Kate said, catching Allison's gaze, "what do you feel?"

"What?" Allison asked. "What do you mean?"

"Just try it," Kate said. "Look at me and tell me what you feel."

Allison looked long and hard at her. She'd recovered a bit since the moment of mental breakdown earlier, but other than some lingering traces of it she looked the same as she always did. "You look - " Allison began, but then she stopped. There was a kind of glow around her aunt, not something she could see, but, like Kate had said, more something she could feel. "Whoa. What is that?"

"You are – _we_ are not just human girls anymore," Kate said, closing her eyes as she corrected herself. "We're not werewolves either, but there are a few things that go along with what we are now, and this is one of them. You can kind of detect when another girl has been marked by a werewolf. I think it's kind of a territory thing."

"So you're both property of the wolf who marked you?" Chris asked, and though there was anger in his voice it wasn't anything even approaching how he'd sounded a few minutes previous. Plus, it didn't seem directed at any one particular person, which made Allison feel infinitely better.

"Not exactly," Allison said, returning her gaze to her aunt. "It's like – yeah, I can tell she belongs to someone, but it's just as important – maybe more important – that someone belongs to _her_."

Kate looked away. "Yeah," she muttered. She'd stopped crying, but her eyes looked a million miles away. "Someone."

Allison wasn't sure what to say to that, so instead she picked herself up off the floor and brushed her hands off. "Well," she said, looking around at the assorted stunned faces in front of her. "That's one way to start a a family meeting, I guess."

"Kate?" Chris asked, trying to sound gentle. "Do you want – do you want some time to yourself?" When Kate nodded, Chris looked around meaningfully at the group, who filed from the kitchen into the living room, leaving Kate sitting on the floor, staring emptily into space.

The group took up various seats around the living room, most of them still looking stunned. "So," Stiles said. "Anyone else with any fucked up news before we begin?"

"I can't believe it," Bridget said, shaking her head. Declan had sat on the couch at one end, kitty-corner, and Bridget had sat down in his lap; he'd automatically folded his arms around her but she'd resisted laying back on him, staying upright and a little tense. "That's – all of that, that happened to her, that's horrible."

"Kind of nice to finally know what her deal is," Lydia said. When Chris cast her an angry look, she stayed firm. "Come on, you'd rather _not_ know?"

Chris shook his head. "I don't know what I'm feeling right now," he admitted. "There are only so many times your world can get tipped upside down in a day."

Lydia glanced at her arm and then at Stiles and Sophie, who'd taken up a position standing together at the front of the room (presumably to share their findings with the group, although the new context seemed to make them both uncomfortable) and Allison felt a pang of regret at her fathers' words. "Tell me about it," the redhead muttered.

"One crisis at a time," Scott said, nodding at Stiles. "You said you'd found something important."

"Yeah," Stiles said. He took a second to shake out the cobwebs, then picked a book up off the coffee table. "I needed last night to finish going through this book, but I found it. Actually, though, it was something that Sophie found that put me onto it. She was reading the diary of a hunter who'd run experiments using the blood of supernatural creatures against other supernatural creatures. That hunter, who'd fought the arez-grou, said that using the blood of a supernatural creature as a weapon had only worked once. That got me thinking, but I didn't figure out what about until last night.

"I went back to the books and reread a half dozen of them before I found this one. It's one of the diaries of the hunts that killed the arez-grou, and it has this passage in it: 'All of our blood is diminished. We must find more if we are to defeat the arez-grou. It is difficult to stomach, they will do it, regardless.' The first time through, we thought they were just using pretty language for recruiting new hunters – you know, 'new blood.' But I think what it means is - "

"They were finding more blood to use against the arez-grou," Gunther continued. "But what blood? If the passage don't say what kind, how do we figure out what kind to use?"

"Process of elimination," Sophie said, picking up Stiles' thread. "We know it's not blood from supernatural creatures, because that's what Bealstock eats all the time. It could have been blood from creatures who've killed, if that's one of Bealstock's opposite things – if the original arez-grou fed on killer creatures and were allergic to non-killer creatures, and Bealstock fed on non-killer creatures and was allergic to killer creatures. But we know from the diaries that the old arez-grou could feed on both, and we know that Bealstock didn't have any sort of allergic reaction when he tasted Scott's blood and realized he'd killed, so that's out."

"It's not humans either," Chris piped in. "There are records of arez-grou feeding on humans when they got desperate between hunts, and there isn't an opposite there to make it the case for Bealstock."

"So what's left?" Stiles asked, although his tone of voice suggested that he'd already figured it out. "The arez-grou themselves. They're allergic to their own blood."

Silence descended for a second. Then Declan spoke up. "How does that make any sense at all?" he asked. "Sorry, I know I sound kinda like my brother right now, but how is something allergic to what's already inside of it?"

"It's not actually an allergy, per se," Stiles said, looking at the fair-haired hunter with patience. "I figure it's more like a bad reaction. A bad reaction to eating it." When everyone else gaped at him, he continued. "The people the hunters were recruiting were live bait, in the most literal way possible. They gorged them full of arez-grou blood and sent them to fight the arez-grou; the arez-grou were used to feeding off of the things they fought, so when they took a bite out of a dead hunter filled with arez-grou blood, they keeled over themselves. End of arez-grou, move on to the next one."

"That's cold," Declan said, settling back again.

"And ruthless," Chris said, nodding. "And exactly the sort of thing the hunters Bealstock remembers would have tried. I think you figured it out, Stiles. Good work. We might make a hunter out of you yet."

Stiles grimaced at the last part of Chris' compliment. "Let's not jump to any conclusions there."

"Everyone slow down," Gunther said, pushing off from the wall and taking center stage, which Stiles and Sophie seemed all-too-happy to yield. "It's all well and good that we know how the hunters back then killed the arez-grou, but how, exactly, do we use this now? Unless someone's willing to step up and be the snack what gives Bealstock the Indigestion of Death."

Silence descended. Allison looked over at Scott, who was sitting in the chair under her. She could tell that he was itching to volunteer, but he was looking at her and restraining himself. _He might as well_, she thought. _Bealstock won't try to eat him._

Allison's head whipped around when Bridget stood up and said, "I'll do it."

***[]***

Declan was surprised when Bridget stood suddenly after Gunther's grim proclamation, but he was utterly and completely shocked at the words that had come out of the nymph's mouth. "I'll do it."

Silence descended again for a half second before everyone got their wits back about them. "You'll _what?_" Declan asked, at the same time that his father said, "No you _won't_, young lady." Declan exchanged a look with his father. _We finally agree on something and it's only because Bridget's clearly gone insane. Great_.

"It's what makes the most sense," she said.

"How on Earth do you figure that?" Declan asked, as she turned to face him.

She was biting her lip, a good sign that she was sure he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. "We're going to need to use someone as bait," she said. "Someone has to get caught and bitten on purpose. We can't wait for Bealstock to come here because he could show up any time, or he could bite any one of us. We have a little of his blood from the arrow Allison hit him with last time, but not enough for everyone to drink some. We need to be the ones to go out and find him and make him bite the one we want him to bite. So one of us needs to offer herself to him. Even Bealstock wouldn't buy it from Lydia after what happened, and Curtis would see through Nia or Sophie trying – but he wouldn't see through me, because he'll want to see me get hurt too badly. Because – because of Declan. So I have to be the bait."

"Except for the part where you don't," Declan said. "Bridget, come on, this is crazy."

"Do you have another plan?"

Declan glanced around the room, seeing distant, worried expressions on everyones' faces. "Come on, someone," he said, his voice low. "Come up with something else. Or at least tell her she's being crazy." Declan's gaze landed on his father, but Gunther was looking long and hard at Bridget, like he'd never really seen her before. "Come on. Please."

He felt Bridget's cool hand make contact with his cheek and gently push his gaze toward hers again. "It'll be okay," she said. "The other arez-grou, the old ones, they ate things that were already dead. Bealstock...clearly prefers to eat things that are still alive. He won't – he won't kill me. He'll just take a bite, and then he'll be gone, and I'll be _fine_."

"You don't know that," Declan said, staring at his girlfriend's pleading eyes. "God, the plans we come up with that are halfway sane never work, what makes you think that the most insane of any possible plans actually would? And while we're on the subject, remember that Bealstock has the opposite reaction to, like, everything. What if he doesn't get killed by eating his own blood? What if it makes him stronger?"

"Do you have another plan?" Bridget asked again.

"Yeah," Declan said, pushing himself to his feet. "We run. We pack our bags and all of us head in different directions. I doubt a guy like him can get on a plane, so we get out of here, right now, and we don't look back, and we lose him and that's that, he's gone."

"He'll never be gone," Bridget whispered. "Not unless we kill him. Not unless I kill him."

Declan felt his eyes filling with tears as he looked down at the scared but determined look on his girlfriend's face. "Please," he said, although he wasn't addressing the group any longer but rather Bridget directly. "Please, don't do this. I can't lose you too."

Bridget reached for him again and pulled him down to kiss her. "You won't," she whispered against his lips. "I promise."

A second later, Gunther cleared his throat, and the two pulled away, embarrassed. All at once Declan became aware that Scott, Allison, Stiles, Sophie, Nia, Gunther, and Chris Argent were all watching them. He reached back to scratch his head as he actually felt Bridget begin to blush. "Uh, sorry," he said. He gave her one last fleeting look and grimaced at the room at large. "I still don't like this, for the record. Are we seriously desperate enough to try _feeding_ Bridget to this thing?"

Gunther stepped forward. "I like it about as much as you do," the old hunter said. He was looking at Bridget with such intensity that the nymph looked frightened, but she straightened her back and met this gaze head on. Gunther nodded, as though she'd passed a test. "But I guess if she's willing."

Declan rolled his eyes. "So _now_ it's about what she wants," he said. "I'm never gonna understand you, _pops_."

"Let's focus," Scott said, interrupting whatever retort Gunther was preparing. Scott looked at Bridget, who was casting worried looks between her boyfriend and her father. "We need to plan this out so that we don't get Bridget killed. Ideas?"

"What do we know about Bealstock's habits?" Lydia asked. When no one answered, she answered her own question. "He likes the woods. He was going to eat Scott there and he – he took the time to drag me there to take my arm. So if we can get him to jump Bridget in the woods, he'll probably just try and take a bite out of her there. We follow after her and once he's down we make sure he stays that way."

"And how do we explain that Bridget's decided to go for a walk, by herself, in the woods where we've all had our asses handed to us several times?" Stiles asked.

"That part's easy," Bridget replied, turning to look at Stiles. "I'm going to save everyone else. I tell Bealstock that I want to trade myself for my sisters, that I'm making a deal to give myself to him in return for him leaving them alone. If he presses me on it, I tell him that I decided to do it without telling anyone else. It sounds a little sketchy, but if I make a big deal of begging them not to tell Declan what's happened to me, Curtis will eat it up."

"_Excellent_ word choice," Stiles muttered.

"Didn't our last plan involve someone walking around the woods until Bealstock found them?" Sophie asked, skeptically, looking at her sister with some fear. _Bet she didn't have this in mind when she came up with this plan_, Declan thought.

"Yeah, it did," Scott said. "Hopefully Bealstock – and Curtis for that matter – won't think we'd try it again. When do we do this?"

"As soon as possible," Chris said, from his seat next to Scott. "The full moon is only a couple of days away. It'd be best if we took care of Bealstock before then, or we'll have to worry about him on the night we have to worry about all of you again. We all remember how that went last time."

"Tomorrow, then?" Scott asked, looking around at their assembled friends. A few of them nodded; most looked kind of dazed. Declan himself was still torn between assenting to the plan – he could practically hear Bridget begging him to be okay with it when he looked into her eyes – and grabbing her and throwing her in Curtis' car and just driving in whichever direction it was already pointed in until it ran out of gas.

"Tomorrow," Declan affirmed, grabbing Bridget's hand and squeezing it.

The meeting broke up. Chris and Allison both made their way quickly back to the kitchen, presumably to check on Kate; Nia wandered toward the front door and out of it, with a slight click, and Declan himself was left standing, looking at Bridget, wondering what to say. He was saved from having to say anything by, of all people, Sophie. "If you guys need our room," Sophie said, laying hands on both Bridget's and Declan's shoulders as she walked up to them, "it's okay. Nia and I will spend the night elsewhere."

Bridget laid her own hand on top of her sister's. "Thanks," she said, and Sophie gave her a weak smile before following Stiles and Lydia down toward the basement. Bridget gave Declan a similarly weak smile, and he shrugged helplessly and nodded toward the stairs. She put her head down and walked up to the room silently, Declan following in her wake.

When they'd gotten into the room and shut the door, Bridget turned to look at him. "Look," Declan said. "About...about all that, I - "

"No," Bridget said, her face impassive.

"No?" Declan asked. "No what?"

"No, we're not going to try and talk about it," she said, walking very slowly toward him. "We have already talked about it down there. You know how I feel, and I know how you feel, and there's nothing that we can say that will change how we both feel about it. The last time we were in this room together you told me you did not want to have a big conversation, you just wanted to see where things went. Tonight, I want to see where things go."

She was standing directly in front of him. He took stock of her outfit – the jeans skirt she'd borrowed from Allison and a white tank top which was stretched fairly tight across her skin. He shivered. _Even now she still makes me feel like this. _Still, Declan faltered as he went to move to touch her. "I'm just," he started, stuttering a little. "I'm scared."

Bridget nodded, standing up on her toes and tilting her head to the side. "I know," she said, her face inches from his. "Me too. Help me not be."

When their lips met, Declan finally found the strength to move his hands to Bridget's hips. He helped steady her as he bent his head slightly to return the kiss, so that she didn't have to stretch so far up. _Not that it's such a bad thing_, he thought, as his hands slipped down to the part between her shirt and pants, which had widened with her stretch. Having found the part, his hands slipped up under her shirt. Declan inclined his head further and pulled on her with his hands, slipping further up until they hit the underside of her bra. Bridget broke the kiss and pulled back slightly, then grinned at him and grabbed the bottom of her shirt and quickly peeled it off over her head, leaving her standing in the skirt and her bra, which was bright yellow. _Weird I couldn't see it at all through that shirt_, Declan thought, but then he stopped thinking because, as soon as she dropped the shirt, Bridget also reached back and undid the bra, letting it fall to the floor, too.

"It occurs to me," she said, toying with the ends of her brown hair and smiling at the reaction Declan was giving this new development, "that we have not actually had sex since our first time, and that was almost a month ago. A girl has needs you know, Declan."

"I got needs too," Declan breathed, heavily. He practically lunged forward and caught her in another kiss, which she returned hungrily. Declan wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the feeling of her bare chest pressed against him. He pulled back slightly and quickly stripped his own shirt off, himself enjoying the effect of doing so on Bridget – she shivered as she looked over his now-exposed torso, but a second later he'd grabbed her up again and it was so much _better_ feeling her pressed against him without his own shirt in the way, and she shivered again and instead of going to kiss his lips he felt her lips fasten themselves to his neck, and he bent his head back to give her easier access and ran his hands up and down her back.

There wasn't anything strange about her back, not that Declan had any other experiences rubbing girls' bare backs to compare it with; but still, running his hands over the smooth skin there reminded him of something. "Bridget," he said, pushing on her slightly. She detached herself from his neck and stepped back, looking up inquisitively. "Your wings," he said. "Get them out."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I want you to. I like them."

Bridget shrugged. "Okay," she said. A second later, her wings, bright red, blossomed out from her back. They fluttered slightly. Bridget allowed her posture to slip to one side, hooking her hands into the empty loops of the skirt. "Is this what you had in mind?"

"Not exactly," Declan said, grinning in what he hoped was a devilishly handsome manner. When she gave him another inquisitive look, he took a step toward her. He bent slowly, as though he were going to kiss her; as soon her eyes closed, her head inclining to meet his, he dropped to a knee and, kissing her stomach, unbuttoned the skirt and pulled it down, hooking his fingers around her underwear and dragging it down in the same motion. When he looked up, Bridget's eyes were still closed, and she had a surprised grin on her face. "That's what I had in mind."

"You are quite evil, yes?"

"Who, me?" Declan asked, as Bridget opened her eyes and looked down at him, still kneeling in front of her. She stepped out of the the clothes he'd just pulled down and kicked them aside. "I'm just an innocent man who was seduced by your various charms. The natural ones, not the supernatural ones." He bent forward and kissed Bridget's stomach again, just below her belly button, and she giggled when he stuck out his tongue and licked at the skin he'd just kissed. He looked down slightly – he could practically feel her blush – and then looked up. "You know, while I'm down here..."

She was blushing deeper. "Do you want to?" she asked. "I mean, I thought that that was something that girls more commonly did for guys."

Declan shrugged. "Want to point out where anything common ever happens to us? 'Sides, I think it's 'common for girls to do it for guys' and not the other way 'round 'cause lots of guys are pathetic, you know?"

Bridget seemed to be on the fence. "If you want to," she said, her wings flapping in what Declan couldn't help but think was a nervous expression. _Wing expressions_, he thought. _Bet the doc'll want to write a paper on that or something._ He returned his attention to Bridget's face when she spoke. "I do not really know anything about that, though, so I do not really know how to, like, tell you what to do or anything..."

"So let's learn," Declan said, kissing a spot a little lower than the one he'd kissed a moment ago. He was still looking up into Bridget's eyes, although her breasts were obscuring most of her lower face from that angle. "Together."

He kept kissing lower. When he'd reached his goal, he stuck his tongue out tentatively. On the one hand, he didn't want Bridget to think he was unsure of wanting to do it, and he really didn't want her to think he was grossed out; but on the other hand, he wasn't totally sure how to navigate this part of her anatomy in this fashion, and it'd be enormously counterproductive (not to mention horrifying) if he hurt her in any way while doing _this_. The first stroke of his tongue met soft skin, but he realized quickly that he'd need to be a lot closer to really do anything, so he inclined his head forward more, his tongue still stuck out, and this time met something slick and just the slightest bit gooey. _Curtis always made a big deal about the smell and the taste_, Declan thought. _I have no idea what he was talking about._.

After a moment or two of more tentative probing and stroking, which elicited chills and a few light moans from his girlfriend, he discovered a small nub of flesh that was a little firmer than the others, and when he ran his tongue over it he felt a gigantic shudder travel all the way through Bridget's body. He moved his head back far enough to speak. "Good?" he asked.

Bridget responded by running her hands into his blonde hair and pulling his head back down to where it had been. Fighting down a chuckle – he could see her taking laughter in entirely the wrong way right now, given the situation – he returned to what he'd been doing, locating the little nub of flesh quickly. He heard a slight thud and realized that Bridget had tipped over a chair; she moved one of her feet onto it, raising that leg into the air and giving Declan more room. When he passed his tongue over that spot again, he felt her shudder again, and he reached around her waist to give her extra support.

He'd licked it three more times, obtaining three increasingly large shudders from the nymph, when he had another idea; he inclined his head further forward and pressed his lips onto either side of the nub, sealing the air between his lips, and then went as though to breath in. The sucking sensation caused another gigantic shudder. With some difficultly, Declan maintained the motion and darted his tongue forward to dab at the nub.

Bridget practically exploded. "Have to lay down," she breathed, kicking the chair away as her body spazzed out. Declan instantly let go of her, and she backed up a few steps to sink down onto the edge of the bed. Declan crawled over closer, to press his face into her again, and this time she lifted both legs to rest on his shoulders, and when he located that area again with his tongue and lips he started going at it just like he had when she was standing, and in very short order he felt her entire body jerking and shaking and heard, strangely as though from a distance, her moaning that she was there, that she was climaxing, and he felt pressure on his shoulders as she pressed down with her legs, arching her back, and then a moment later she sank back down onto the bed, breathing heavily, and Declan moved his head back.

"How was that?" he asked, wiping his face off on his sleeve; he felt as though he'd drooled all over himself, although, on reflection, he felt that a large amount of what was on his face hadn't started out in his mouth.

Bridget, on the bed with a hand on her forehead, nodded. "Good," she said, trying to catch her breath. Her face was bright red and shining with sweat.

Declan stood and unbuckled his belt, dropping his jeans to the floor. He saw Bridget, still breathing heavily, give an eyeful to the spot he'd just uncovered, and resisted his own blush. "Do you want to have sex now?" he asked.

She sat back up on the edge of the bed, her wings fluttering to help push her up. "Not just yet," she said, reaching for him; when her hands grasped him there, wrapping around, he shuddered himself. "I think I will return the favor first."

***[]***

Around the same time Bridget and Declan were heading upstairs, Sophie, Stiles, and Lydia were heading downstairs. _Have to ask Scott about putting railings in on both sides of the stairs_, Lydia thought as she pressed her hand against one of the walls to steady herself. _Railings only on one side are going to be a problem for me from now on._

When they reached the bottom, Lydia sat down heavily on one of the beds, kicking off her shoes. "My feet are killing me," she said.

"That normal for a werewolf?" Stiles asked, sitting down next to her.

"Not really," Lydia replied. "I don't remember _aching_, really, since I was turned. Then the last couple of weeks happened. It's amazing how many little things hurt when you haven't had to deal with it for months."

"Well," Stiles said, looking down. "Maybe we can fix some of that tonight."

Lydia raised her eyebrows, but looked at Sophie instead of at Stiles. The nymph was standing in front of them, her arms folded. "I believe that was Mr. Stilinski's lame attempt at seducing us."

"Look, Lydia," Sophie began.

"Don't," Lydia interrupted. "I know you're not convinced about this. Just go with it. It'll be good. I promise."

"I'm not worried about it being _good_," Sophie muttered. "I'm more worried about it being _right_."

Lydia huffed. "We spend too much time thinking about right and wrong," she said. "Try to focus on feeling good. The rest will come naturally."

The redhead stopped talking, glancing between Stiles and Sophie. The nymph still had her arms folded and was practically radiating tension. Stiles was also looking between his two partners, a look which Lydia classified in her own mind as 'confused desire' on his face; he looked as though he wanted to jump both of them but wasn't altogether sure how it should work.

Lydia rolled her eyes. _Of course it has to be _me_ who initiates things,_ she thought. _How typical_. She climbed off the bed to stand in front of Stiles, and pushed him onto his back, climbing onto the bed to straddle him. She went to reach for her shirt and inched it up over her skin. One of the doctors at the hospital had walked her through how to perform certain activities with only one arm; this had been one of them. The motion involved crossing her left arm to the right side of her torso, lifting the hem of her shirt over the slight bump where her right arm should have started and then over her head, and then finishing by letting it fall off of her left arm. By the time this motion was complete she was no longer wearing her shirt.

She went to also remove her bra, her mind going over the instructions she'd received for doing so from the doctor, but then thought twice about it. "Sophie?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at the nymph, who was still standing with a skeptical look on her face. "Would you care to help me with this?" Sophie didn't say anything, instead stepping up to Lydia's back and fiddling for a second with the bra. A moment later it came free and Lydia let it fall away. Lydia was still looking over her shoulder. "And would you like to join us?" Sophie looked like she was ready to protest, but instead stripped her own shirt over her head and, looking anywhere but at Lydia and Stiles, also unhooked her bra and dropped it to the floor. "Thatta girl," Lydia said, turning her gaze back to Stiles. "How're you doing, lover boy?"

"Good," Stiles said, his eyes fastened firmly to Lydia's chest. _As it should be._ He looked over at Sophie. There was a moment of the same desire with which he'd looked at Lydia's chest, but then his face clouded. "Sophie? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sophie said, her heart rate spiking so much that Lydia thought Stiles could probably hear it, too. "Yeah, I'm fine." Lydia tried to turn Stiles' attention back to her by running her hand under the front of his shirt, but he gave her an impatient, distracted look and pushed her gently off of him. "Soph? What is it?"

"She said she's fine, Stiles," Lydia said as Stiles got up to stand in front of the nymph. "Ugh, why can't you have one of those trance things when it'd actually be _useful_?"

Stiles gave Lydia another, increasingly intense, look of frustrated confusion. "Come on, Sophie, talk to me," he said, turning his attention back to the nymph.

"It's nothing," she said, her heart rate spiking again. "Come on. Let's do this."

"It's not nothing," Stiles said. "If you're not okay with this - "

"She said she is," Lydia said. "Don't you think you owe her your trust?"

Stiles, seemingly, had finally had enough. "What is up with you, Lydia?" he asked. "This is starting to remind me of bitchy old Lydia. You haven't acted like this in months and you pick _now_ to start being horrible again?"

"Oh, I'm being horrible?" Lydia asked. "You're busy asking her about her feelings when you should be having sex with me."

"Jesus, what has gotten into you?" Stiles asked.

The look on his face was even less promising than the look of tense discomfort on Sophie's face. "Look, just forget it, okay?" Lydia said. "Let's start over, okay? I don't want to make anyone feel uncomfortable or anything, I just, you know, _want_ to do this. I'm sorry."

Stiles still looked skeptical. He turned back to Sophie. "Be honest. Are you comfortable with this right now?"

"What happened to telling me I needed to admit how I felt about you?" Sophie asked, still looking at the ground. Her arms had, seemingly subconsciously, crossed again, to cover her breasts.

Stiles rolled his eyes, but the gesture was a lot gentler than the looks he'd been shooting Lydia. "I was telling you to be honest," he said. "That's still what I'm doing. If you're not okay with how fast this is moving, we don't have to move that fast. Going from denying something to rushing it isn't really an improvement."

"I just - " Sophie started. "It's – look, it's not that I don't want to. I want to." She closed her eyes. "I want to _a lot_ and what happened in the classroom yesterday just made we want to worse. And – and part of me even _wants_ to do it with Lydia, too, the three of us. It's all just a little overwhelming. A few weeks ago the thought of even being, you know, _naked_ around someone other than my sisters made my skin crawl. I'm still adjusting."

_Why couldn't Stiles have gone for the sexually adventurous one?_ Lydia thought. She could hear Bridget's moans coming all the way from upstairs. _Be nice. You swore you'd be nice. You want to be nice._ "I'm sorry, Sophie," Lydia said. "I don't want to pressure you into this."

Lydia was glad that neither Stiles nor Sophie could detect lies the way she could.

Sophie smiled weakly at Lydia. "Maybe if I, you know, just watch tonight, that'd be okay. Okay?"

_That is not what I want._ "Of course," Lydia said, smiling back in a way that she hoped was genuine. "Whatever makes you comfortable."

Sophie nodded gratefully and Stiles took a deep breath, turning back to Lydia. "So," he said. "Uh, where were we?"

_He sounds nervous. Why does he sound nervous? He shouldn't be nervous. This isn't his first time. _"I think we were going to have sex," Lydia responded, hoping that her voice still sounded light and playful. "I stand corrected. We _are_ going to have sex."

"Right," Stiles said. He took a step back toward the bed, then his eyes went wide and he began fumbling in his pockets. When Lydia gave him an exasperated and confused look, he clarified his actions. "Condom," he said. "We should be using a condom, right?"

Lydia had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at him. "No," she said. "Weren't you listening to Kate's little speech upstairs? You can't get me pregnant if I don't spend a couple of months screwing with your head and clawing you up while we have sex first."

"Right," Stiles said again. He began to kneel on the bed, and Lydia began to draw herself closer, but then he straightened up again and stood. "Should I take my pants off? You know, now, before I lay down again? I just think, you know, it'll probably be hard once I'm laying down."

"It being _hard_ is the whole point," Lydia said.

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Yeah, and it is, but that's not what I meant, and I think you know that, and I think I might be babbling, right? It's just, sorry, you know, I kind of never figured we'd actually get this far, even when we were talking about it weeks ago, which feels like it was years ago, you know? I guess I'm nervous."

Lydia sighed, hoping that her impatience wasn't showing through too much. "You have no reason to be nervous," she said. "You've done this once, almost twice, and I'm sure the third time will be just as good."

"So should I take off my pants...?"

"Yes, Stiles. Take off your pants."

He did so quickly, and Lydia began undoing her own pants and pushing them down. They were a lot trickier than her shirt; after a second Stiles bent and began helping her to get them off, which she hurriedly thanked him for. Once they were both naked she sat back on the bed and he climbed on top of her, and a second later he was inside of her.

He was a lot larger than Jackson, not that that was saying much; however, as he began to attempt to fuck her, Lydia became distinctly aware that there none of the natural lubrication that should have come from both of them was forthcoming. While Jackson's tiny equipment and sharp, short thrusts had failed to make her feel _good_, the grating feeling of rough, dry skin on rough, dry skin actually hurt.

She did her best to keep it from showing. Stiles himself wasn't so good at hiding it. "Uh, Lydia?" he said after a moment. "I, uh, don't want to alarm you or anything, but this kind of hurts. Is it hurting you?"

"No," Lydia lied. "Just go with it, it'll clear up in a second." She reached down between her legs with her hand and began rubbing herself. Luckily, the tactic worked and soon she felt herself moistening; a moment after that, she felt Stiles' small, hesitant thrusts become smoother, and then deeper. "Better?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, although he was looking down at her breasts and not her face, a look of great concentration on his face. "It feels good, Lydia. So good."

Lydia moved hand to his hips. _It does feel good_, she thought. _Not really building yet though. Maybe after a few minutes we can try a couple other positions, see if maybe that'll help me climax. _

A few minutes of Stiles thrusting in and out of her later – Lydia had tried rubbing the skin at his hips, but it had tickled him and he'd laughed and almost rolled off of her so she'd abandoned that plan – Lydia was just about to suggest they change positions when Stiles' face screwed up tight. _No way_, Lydia thought. Sure enough, though, a moment later Stiles groaned loudly and she felt him pulsing inside of her. She'd never let a guy ejaculate inside of her before, and it felt really good; however the feeling was relatively fleeting, and she wasn't nearly close enough to her own orgasm to use it to get there.

After a moment, during which the spasms from Stiles slowed and finally ceased, he did roll off of her, to lay face up on the bed, panting. Lydia sat up and looked down at him. "Really?" she asked. "That's it?" She turned to Sophie. "This happen the time the two of you did this...?" Sophie shrugged, a helpless look on her face. "Well," Lydia continued, standing up and searching around for her underwear, finding it tangled in her jeans. "That didn't exactly go as planned."

"Lydia, wait," Stiles said, sitting up. "I'm sorry. I think it was the nerves."

"I could hit him with some pheromones," Sophie offered. Lydia couldn't help but notice that the nymph's gaze was riveted on Stiles' penis. _Great, she'll probably have the trance _now_, of all times. _

"That'd just make him want to fuck _you_, dear," Lydia said, pulling her underwear on and stepping into her jeans. "Doesn't seem like that'd solve anyone's problem right now."

"Come on, Lydia, wait," Stiles said, popping up off the bed and grabbing Lydia's arm. "We can wait a little bit and try again."

"Oh, that's great, Stiles," Lydia said. "You really know how to turn a girl on. 'Let's wait and see if I can try again.' I'm swooning." Stiles abruptly let her arm go. She glanced around at the floor and, locating her bra, picked it up. "Forget it. I'm not in the mood for 'try' right now. I'm in the mood for getting this little predicament of mine _fixed_." She began trying to fasten the bra, but in her haste she kept forgetting the instructions the doctor had given her on how to preform the task with only one hand; it felt foreign trying to do so after years of doing so with two hands. When Sophie saw the trouble she was having she stepped over, raising her hands, but Lydia threw up her hand to ward the nymph off, feeling her anger rising. "And don't try to help! I don't need - "

She didn't finish the sentence. With her anger, she'd felt her eyes begin to glow blue, but as soon as they had, she felt a familiar searing pain. She doubled over, trying to wrap her arms around herself, but of course _that_ didn't work, either.

"Lydia?" Stiles asked, worry written all over his voice, but she waved him off.

A second later the pain had mostly subsided and she straightened up. "I'm fine," she said. "It's okay, it's gone." Both Stiles and Sophie were staring at her with a mixture of pain and confusion and pity. _Pity_, Lydia's mind spat. _No._ "Don't you dare look at me like that!" Stiles reached for Lydia's arm. "And don't you touch my arm, either! It's the only fucking one I have left and it's mine!"

Stiles withdrew his hand as though it'd been burnt. "Lydia, please," he said. "Don't get angry again, I don't want you to get hurt any worse."

_This isn't anger, it's hysteria, you nitwit._ "I'm fine!" Lydia practically shrieked. She abandoned the bra and picked up her shirt, shrugging her way into it. "Since I'm _clearly_ not getting what I came here for, I'm going to have to go find it somewhere else. Have a fucking pleasant evening."

Before Stiles or Sophie could protest – or apply enough clothing to be comfortable chasing her into the rest of the house – she stalked past them, up the stairs, out of the house and straight past Nia, who was laying on the grass of the front lawn looking at the stars. She climbed into her car and the gunned the engine; she was vaguely aware that both Stiles, half-dressed, and Sophie, her own shirt reapplied haphazardly, had made it to the door just as she was pulling away, but she ignored them and just drove.

***[]***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, that was _long_. I've been waiting for months to drop the bomb about what happened to Kate that screwed her up so badly. Also, and please excuse the _Boy Meets World_ reference, but I think Lydia is becoming my Shawn Hunter – the mostly good-hearted if sometimes sarcastic best friend, with a penchant for self-destruction when things get really bad, whose search for peace and belonging is constantly stymied by everything that could possibly go wrong going wrong. Well, let's hope things wind up looking up for Lydia.

Thanks for reading. As always, reviews are my fuel.


	25. Worst Laid Plans

WORST LAID PLANS...

When the sun rose the next day over the McCall house, it found what one might typically find in a house full of teenagers – confusion, hope, and the usual somewhat embarrassing amounts of angst and lust. While Bridget and Declan slept in past the sunrise, tangled in the sheets they'd torn off the bed in all their fervent activities the night before, Scott and Allison both lay awake, cuddled up close to each other, naked for lack of a reason not to be, but having forgone sex the night before, instead discussing briefly their new situation. In the living room, Gunther hadn't slept at all, instead looking through a few old photographs of his kids, particularly Declan and Bridget, photographs which he'd never told anyone he had. Nia had wound up falling asleep under the kitchen table. And in the basement, Sophie and Stiles, who'd never deigned to go home after his disastrous attempt to have sex with Lydia the night before, slept individually on the two cots, which were nonetheless pulled over next to each other.

They all rose slowly, languor dragging their heels.

For Scott and Allison, this was driven by lingering fear of what had happened and what was to come for them. They'd agreed – hastily – that having children, which seemed to be the point of the exercise they'd found themselves in, was completely out of the question for a long time. They'd also agreed to be more careful about sex; though both had expressed that it shouldn't be _too_ hard to keep from doing it on the full moon, they'd both also been forced to admit, to each other and to themselves, that despite the odds they'd wound up doing it on the last two, and if Bealstock had taught them anything, it was that they had no real way of knowing exactly what tomorrow would bring.

For Gunther, this was driven by being mired in memories, good memories of good times. He had a few of Declan – teaching him to shoot, watching him and his brother take down a rabid creature without needing his help for the first time. He had more of Bridget – seeing her first steps, getting a birthday card from her that she'd written entirely by herself when she was five, taking her and her sisters to their first PG-13 movie (which he'd been to beforehand to verify that there wouldn't be any awkward sex scenes), watching her go pale when he announced that it was time she start learning to drive. While he treasured each of these, in the back of his mind it disturbed him that all of his memories of Bridget were of things parents were _supposed_ to remember about their kids, whereas he couldn't summon up a memory of any single milestone in Declan's life that didn't involve hunting.

For Sophie, this was driven by the memory of the night before, and the utter confusion that had accompanied her attempts to sleep after Lydia had left. Sophie had spent the evening deluged by conflicting feelings of desire and fear. She hadn't been lying when she'd said that she wanted to have what Lydia had proposed. She also hadn't been lying when she'd said that she needed time to come around to accepting it, not only that she wanted it but that it would be _okay_ for her to have it, or anything else even remotely like it; and that's what was throwing her most, because the redhead had given every indication that she was not willing to wait for Sophie to come to terms with her new reality. And if Lydia wasn't okay to wait for her, but Stiles _was_...what did _that_ mean for their fledgling three-way relationship?

For Stiles, this was driven by an absurd conflict between what he came to classify as his "normal-teenage-boy" feelings and his "I-live-with-freaky-werewolves-and-nymphs" feelings. On the one hand, he felt terrible about his lack of performance with Lydia, which he figured fit neatly into the "normal-teenage-boy" category. On the other hand, he was upset with Lydia for how she'd acted, both toward Sophie and, once he'd compartmentalized his own feelings of guilt which told him he'd deserved it, toward himself; when he came back down to Earth far enough to rationalize he'd realized that Lydia, despite _seeming_ to be better, was likely still very deeply scarred emotionally, which definitely fell under "I-live-with-freaky-werewolves-and-nymphs." And on the other side of his weird new three-way relationship – which, in the first place, the "normal-teenage-boy" side of his psyche was high-fiving everyone in sight over, but the "I-live-with-freaky-werewolves-and-nymphs" side was constantly worried about the implications and dangers that came with dating a nymph prone to potentially murderous sex trances and an emotionally-damaged werewolf who could transform into a killing machine as a result of getting angry, _at the same time_ – was Sophie, whose indecision over sex at first seemed to fall into the "normal-teenage-boy" range of experiences – girls who weren't ready for sex were part of just about every teen coming of age story made since Stiles had been born, and he'd even fantasized, years ago, about being the brave knight who would be willing to wait for Lydia if it ever came down to it and she wasn't ready, a fantasy which in retrospect now seemed utterly ridiculous – but which really fell under the "I-live-with-freaky-werewolves-and-nymphs" category, since her fear of sex and her attempts to get over said fear were both driven in part by her being a nymph in the first place. His attempts to work through his thoughts and feelings on his current situation left him spending the entire night constructing run-on sentences in his head which ultimately led nowhere.

For Bridget and Declan, it was simply about staving off the end of the night. Bridget had asked Declan to help her not be afraid, and he'd succeeded, for a little while; but in the backs of their minds they'd known what the rising of the sun the next day would mean, and so, as a duty to each other, had both slept through the sunrise.

Few words were exchanged as they slowly dressed, gathered, and headed out to the animal clinic, which would once again be serving as their base of operations. Bridget had gone to say something to Declan when they'd woken up, but he'd reached across and pulled her closer and kissed her and her wings had fluttered and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach had receded just enough for her to kiss him back. _I love you_, she'd wanted to say, but something – something bewildering – had kept the words from coming, and Declan had given her the old smile, the casual, laid back smile, and she'd felt like crying and stamping her foot like a child for wanting to say it but being unable.

***[]***

When Scott, Allison, Bridget, Declan, Sophie, Stiles, Nia, and Gunther arrived at the animal clinic after spending most of the day milling around the house, not saying much, they found Deaton, Chris, and Kate already there, sipping at steaming beverages and looking somber. Scott sniffed and for a moment was outside the horror they were about to face as he wondered why his boss was drinking coffee. _I thought he said he doesn't drink it?_

Scott put aside the otherwise useless observation when Chris stepped forward. Scott hadn't had a chance to talk one-on-one with his girlfriend's father after the meeting had dissolved the night before; Chris had been too concerned with making sure that Kate hadn't devolved far enough to need institutional care, a concern which, Scott reflected, would have resulted in a large number of merciless jokes from him or Stiles or Lydia once upon a time, but which had been met only with a nod from Scott the night before.

"We're just waiting on Lydia," Chris said, simply, and out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Stiles pale.

Mentally, Scott slapped himself upside his own head – he'd meant to ask Stiles how things had gone with Lydia – but now, with Chris standing in front of him, that conversation with Stiles would have to take a backseat, at least for a few minutes. "Good," he said. He looked across the room to where Kate was sitting, staring into space the way she had been the night before, albeit with better posture and without the look like the world had just ended. "How is she?"

Chris followed Scott's gaze and sighed. "I couldn't tell you," he said. "Better, I think? Better than she was last night, that's for sure, but it'd take the work of a well-trained psychiatrist to really answer that question. We have a guy who helps out people who've been through a lot – I called him last night and he agreed to meet with Kate, but he has a bit of a backlog, so it'll be a couple of months."

"That sucks," Scott said, studying Kate's face. It seemed so different without the expression of contempt and arrogance that she'd always worn; now she just seemed...tired. Used up. Scott shook his head. "I can't believe I'm actually feeling sorry for her. I don't mean to offend you, but...well, if you'd told me three months ago that I'd be here today, having a civil conversation with you about how I feel bad for Kate Argent..." Scott trailed off. Using her full name had brought something to mind. "Say, did she ever explain why saying 'Katherine' last night made her go off on you?"

Chris grimaced. "Wasn't a need for her to explain it," he said. "It's what our father called her. Everyone else called her Kate, he called her Katherine. You know, it's almost funny," Chris said, chuckling, entirely without mirth. "I'd never guessed any of it. I knew that Kate had been involved with Derek, but I'd always figured it'd been her idea. She was so willful – I remember telling Allison a few months ago about how she'd refused to go for a run with my father the first time he'd pulled us out of bed at six in the morning to do so – I'd never have guessed that it was our father that made her do those things, that he's the one who pushed her into becoming – what she is. I guess – maybe after he realized that ordering her around wouldn't work, he resorted to manipulation. I guess maybe I'll never know."

Scott shook his head again, taking in the pain that Chris was expressing. "I'm sorry," he said, feeling that the sentiment was wholly inadequate.

Chris wiped at his eyes, despite the fact that no tears had appeared there. "We move on," he said. "And here I am, venting my feelings to you, of all people."

"Strange world we live in."

"You're telling me," Chris said. He looked back toward Kate and Scott again followed his gaze, seeing that Allison had walked over, laid her bow on the counter and hopped up on it to sit next to her aunt, neither of them talking. Allison laid a hand on Kate's and the two just sat there like that, not moving, not speaking. Chris abruptly started speaking again. "I told Allison, a few weeks ago, that I was going to start being the father I'm supposed to be, that I don't actually have anything against you."

"I know," Scott said, searching the hunter's face. Where was this coming from? "She told me."

Chris chuckled again, this time without the dead, grief-stricken note of the previous time. "Of course she did," he said. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a hand that held a gun, causing the metal to glint off the lights of the animal clinic. "Look, everything that's happened in the last few months has been hard on all of us. I just wanted to clear the air between us specifically. We're okay, Scott. I don't think I'm wrong about werewolves in general, and I pray that neither you nor my daughter ever has to find out why, but I was most certainly wrong about _you_."

Scott was beginning to nod when a voice from the entrance caused all their heads to turn. "What about me?"

Chris nodded, smiled a little. "You too, Lydia," he said. "My apologies."

The redhead stepped into the main room of the animal clinic. The step, which lacked grace and which caused her to grimace in discomfort as her foot landed slightly on it's side, was enough to confirm to Scott that Lydia hadn't overcome the lingering effects of Bealstock's injuries. When she slipped a second later and caught herself painfully against one of the examination tables, it only served to compound the issue. Scott shot a glance at Stiles, who looked, unbelievably, _relieved_ to see Lydia still in pain. _Really have to find out what the hell happened last night_.

"Guess that's everyone," Scott muttered, attempting to send Lydia an encouraging glance that she ignored. Scott hopped agilely onto one of the examining tables, quickly capturing everyone's attention, halting the few little conversations that had been struck up between his friends. Scott first directed his gaze toward Chris. "You've got your men spread out through the woods?" he asked.

Chris nodded. "I have twenty men covering a twenty square mile area of the woods," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Should help to cut down response time once Bridget lures Bealstock out."

Scott nodded. "Good," he said, then glanced around at all the upturned, hopeful, scared faces, each marked with the scars that had either been received or uncovered in the past few months. They seemed to be waiting for something – from him. "Look," he said. "I'm not real good at the whole inspirational speech thing, so I'm going to keep this short. We've all been through various versions of hell in the past few months, and I think we're all still there, in varying degrees. But this time – I feel it it this time, I really feel it – this time that thing out there is going to be the one who goes down. It's terrorized us enough. Now it's our turn." He hopped down off the table and walked quickly over to Bridget. The brunette nymph was white in the face and seemed to be using Declan's arm, which was wound around her shoulders, to help herself stay up. Scott laid his own hand on Bridget's shoulder and she gave him a weak smile, drawing the vile that held most of Bealstock's blood that they'd retrieved from Allison's arrow. She upended the vial, swallowing it, with a disgusted look on her face. "I'll be behind you the whole time. I'm not going to let that thing kill you." He looked up, at Declan beside her and Gunther just behind them. "I promise." He looked back at Bridget, gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and withdrew his hand. "I'll be around back when you're ready to go."

***[]***

Declan had barely made it out the front door with Bridget before she pulled him back into her and stared kissing him. "I'm going to be fine," she said, between kisses, and Declan could hear and feel that she'd started crying. "I'm – I'm going to be okay. I'm not going to leave you. I'll – everything is going to be okay."

_I think she's trying to reassure herself as much as she's trying to reassure me_, Declan thought. With great difficulty, he stowed the fear he was feeling in the back of his mind and tried to put on a brave face for his girlfriend, even as she continued to kiss him and pull back intermittently to whisper half-broken phrases of reassurance. "Remember, you've got a werewolf Alpha on your side out there," Declan said. "More to the point, a werewolf Alpha who manages to not die, despite being in a position where he really should 'bout once every other week."

Bridget pulled back and Declan wiped a tear from her. She sniffled and smiled at the gesture and the humor in his statement, and for a second Declan wasn't sure how he was going to continue standing. _She is so beautiful_, he thought, seeking to memorize every inch of her face, her hair, her body, even her clothes – a set of jeans and a baggy black sweatshirt. Declan felt words welling up inside of him – _I love you_ – but he quashed them. _You say that now and she'll think it's because you don't expect her to survive_, he thought. _Save it._

Bridget herself seemed to be wrestling with something she wanted to say, biting her lip and staring Declan in the eyes. Instead of saying anything, though, she just plunged forward, no longer crying, and pressed her lips against his. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss. A second later they both heard the door to the clinic click open and they both looked around, still wrapped in each others' arms, to see Gunther standing there.

He stepped outside, letting the door click shut behind him. "Sorry," he said, looking down, looking, for all the world, _bashful_. _That's got to be a first_, Declan thought. "Didn't mean to interrupt."

Declan felt the urge to retort sarcastically – as though his father couldn't have guessed what they'd be doing right now? - but he caught a glance from Bridget which clearly told him to keep his mouth shut, so he did. "What is it, father?" she asked.

Gunther looked up. "I – well, I wanted to tell you 'good luck,' you know," he said. He pantomimed a punch. "You know, knock him dead." When neither Bridget nor Declan reacted to his attempt at levity, he dropped his hands back to his sides. "Look, I know – I know now's not the time for jokes or nothing. I just wanted to tell you - " he stopped, again looking between the two of them. "I don't know. I just want you to know that I want everything to work out for everyone."

Bridget was looking at Declan and he looked down into her eyes. She was looking for something from him, waiting for something. This mystified Declan for a second until he realized what she was looking for. _It's okay,_ he thought, releasing his hold on her. _Go ahead. Go to him._ He watched as she gave him a smile and walked over to Gunther and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder.

The grizzled old hunter sniffled once and wrapped his own arms around Bridget. Declan watched as his father hugged his girlfriend. "I'm going to be okay," he heard Bridget whisper, and this time Declan could tell that the sentiment was meant entirely for Gunther's benefit. Not for the first time Declan felt himself amazed at just how much Bridget could give of herself – that even now, in this situation, she was still trying to reassure Gunther.

"Yeah," he said, pulling back. "Yeah, I know."

Bridget went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, then pulled back as well. Slowly – as though she was afraid of what she'd see when she did – she turned back to Declan. When their eyes met she saw all the fear that had been there since she'd decided on this course of action the night before, but he also saw strength – the strength of a girl who'd been able to overcome a lifetime of fear of herself, the strength of a girl who could put her family before herself, the strength of the girl who'd pulled him back from the edge of his own despair when Curtis had abandoned them.

And when she opened her mouth, it was to reassure him, too. "I am going to be all right," she said, stepping forward and reaching up to kiss him. The kiss was chaster than those they'd been sharing a moment previous – Declan couldn't help but wonder how much of that came from the fact that she was consciously trying to keep herself calm now and how much of it came from the fact that Gunther was still standing right there – but it still brought back the sweet feeling of _I'm home_ that Declan had felt every time she'd kissed him since the first.

He resolved right then and there to always remember her for that strong, beautiful, loving look in her eye, no matter what happened.

And then, a second later, she'd pulled away and turned away immediately, avoiding his eyes, and jogged out of sight around the building. Declan had to fight with himself to keep from running after her. Of course, going with her would completely destroy the plan's chances of success, but for the briefest of moments Declan didn't care. _This is the only way_, he reminded himself. _This is the only way she'll ever be safe again. _

Declan turned back to the door to see that Gunther was also staring after her. "Toughest thing I've ever done, letting her go just now," he said, still looking at where Bridget had disappeared around the corner of the building. "Tougher than deciding to take her and her sisters with me rather than kill them when they were babies. Tougher than any of the things I've ever fought by a long stretch. Tougher even, I think, than finding out your mom had died. It's not like then I could have reached out and stopped her, you know?"

Declan nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I know."

Gunther looked around at him, but as soon as he met his son's fierce eyes he looked away. "So," he said. "I know we ain't exactly been getting along lately, son."

"Understatement," Declan muttered.

"Yeah," he said. "And I figure we probably got differing views on what's going to happen when we run across that brother of yours - "

"Curtis is not my brother anymore," Declan said, consciously correcting his grammar from also using the word 'ain't,' idly wondering if that was because he didn't want to sound like his father who'd just used the word or because Bridget's needling about proper English was finally having an effect.

Gunther shook his head. "Of course he is, Declan, he'll always - "

"No," Declan said, cutting his father off. Surprisingly, this time, he wasn't angry as he had been before. "He isn't, not anymore," Declan continued. "Maybe he can be saved – if that's how you want to try it, you go ahead and try it, but he's dead to me. You haven't seen, _father_ – you haven't been there to see what he is. He didn't do the job because he wanted to help people, like me and – and you. He did the job because he liked killing things."

Declan was expecting Gunther to retort again, to throw it back in his face, and that the conversation would then turn into another argument. To his surprise, Gunther hung his head. "You're right," he said, so softly that Declan wasn't sure he'd heard it at first. "It's my fault Curtis is the way he is. If I'd been around more, he wouldn't've gone over to the dark side, and maybe the last plan would've worked, and we wouldn't be in this mess right now."

Declan scrunched up his eyes, trying to process what he was hearing. One side of brain was telling him that hearing his father capitulate and admit blame was what he'd been shooting for all along, but the other side of his brain was telling him that this wasn't serving any purpose and did no one any good. "Nah," Declan said, after coming to a decision. _If Bridget's strong enough to give him strength right now, I am, too_. "It's not your fault. I hashed this out with Bridget the other night, and she's right that it's not anyone's fault but Curtis'. He's a grown man who made his own decision. If you're to blame for not setting him right, so am I for not being a better brother."

Gunther shook his head. "You got that all wrong," he said. "You're just a kid, Declan. You're all just kids, even Curtis. I'm supposed to be your father, god damn it. I'm supposed to be _responsible_ for you. Instead, I spent all your lives turning you and Curtis into weapons, and then I have the gall to go be surprised when Curtis the Weapon winds up pointed at me instead of the other guy. And now I'm turning Bridget into a weapon too."

Despite his previous resolution, Declan felt himself getting angry. "You want to be responsible?" he asked. "Fine, be responsible then. 'Responsibility' doesn't mean keeping us from ever getting hurt or getting into danger, it's about making sure we know who we are and whether what we're doing is worth it. Bridget's the most wonderful, caring, compassionate person on the planet, and like I was saying to her the other night, crazy as it is that's got to have something to do with how _you_ raised her. Right now she's off risking her life for her family because she _loves_ them. She's risking her life for you so that you don't have to worry about them anymore. She's risking her life for me – for us, for whatever we are to each other, exactly. Be responsible for that. Be proud of her and help me keep her from dying."

There were tears – actual tears – in Gunther's eyes. _I didn't think he could cry_, Declan thought. "I am proud of her," he muttered, wiping away the tears. A few more fell. _This is really weird._ "And I won't let that thing kill her. No matter what it takes, I'm not losing any of you to it."

"And Curtis," Declan continued, before his father could derail him completely. "If you think he can be saved, go for it. But if he can't be – if he's too far gone – remember that the 'responsible' thing is to keep him from hurting anyone else."

Gunther was nodding as Declan finished. "I know," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I know. I just – I know, that's all."

Declan regarded his father, standing there crying and nodding and clearly having a difficult time coming to terms with what he was saying, and finally the wall of angry frustration he'd built to keep his feelings toward his father broke. Declan felt tears well up in his own eyes and he strode up to his father and wrapped him in a hug, too. _I don't ever remember hugging him_, he thought. _Never once until this moment have I hugged my father. Or been hugged by my father._

"We're not going to lose her," Gunther muttered in Declan's ear. "You won't lose her, son."

Declan pulled back out of the hug. "Does that mean you're - "

Gunther waved him off, a little of his usual demeanor showing through the tears. "Don't press your luck," he said. "I still dunno how I'm gonna reconcile my daughter and my son sleeping together," he continued, and even Declan felt a little shiver at the way he worded it. _No wonder he's got so many issues with it,_ he thought. _No way for him to look at either of us as anything _but_ those two things._ "But even I have to admit that both of you've been good for each other. So maybe we start there and see where we go with the whole acceptance thing."

Declan nodded. "That sounds good to me."

***[]***

Stiles, meanwhile was glancing between Sophie, who was looking nervously at the radio that was set up in the middle of the room, and Lydia, who was leaning against a wall as far away as possible from both of them. When Declan and Gunther came walking back in, both of their faces ashen but determined, Stiles made up his mind and walked over to Lydia.

She looked up when Stiles was right in front of her. Not for the first time, he couldn't read the look in her eyes. "So," he said.

"So," she repeated.

"I'm sorry - "

"I want to apologize - "

They both stopped, both having started to apologize at the same time. Stiles grinned and was rewarded with a small, but genuine, smile from the redhead. _I don't remember seeing her smile like that since she lost her arm_, Stiles thought. _Good sign?_ "Look, about last night - "

Lydia shook her head. "You don't have to - " she interrupted.

"No, I want to," Stiles cut her off in turn. He laid a hand on her shoulder. "It was – well, aside from being the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me, it was – you know, it was horrifying that I couldn't, you know, _help_ you." Lydia glanced around the room. It was a spacious room, and the numerous cages and tables and counter tops gave them a modicum of privacy; but it was still all too clear to everyone that they were speaking, and given the public nature of everything that'd been going on, it would be all too clear to everyone what they were speaking _about_. "Want to step out into the lobby?" Stiles suggested.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

Stiles thought about taking her hand to lead her there but decided against it. He tried to catch Sophie's eye, to suss out what _she _was feeling right then, but Sophie was still glued to the radio, looking terrified. Stiles felt a slight pang. _I should be, I don't know, helping her somehow_, he thought, but then his gaze backward caught Lydia. _One crisis at a time_, Stiles thought, echoing Scott's sentiment of the day before.

As soon as they were out of sight of everyone else, and out of earshot of everyone except Scott, Stiles turned back to Lydia. "We haven't been able to talk since - " Stiles began, but still found himself unable to finish the sentence. Instead he nodded to Lydia's missing right arm. When she nodded in understanding, he continued. "You know, just the two of us."

Lydia smiled again, and again it seemed genuine; but this time it was tinged with sadness. "It hasn't been just the two of us since this happened," she said. "I'm not even completely sure that it was 'just the two of us' before it happened. We never bothered to define things that much, remember? I'm kind of wishing we had."

Stiles' brow furrowed. "Why?"

Lydia sighed, not meeting his eyes. "Everything – since my I lost my arm – everything's been so out of control," she said, leaning against the reception desk. "It's like nothing really makes sense anymore, nothing's the way it was, and I don't know how it's _supposed_ to be, and the idea that nothing is _supposed_ to be anything is too scary for me to face. So I have to make everything something and along the way I keep breaking some of those things. Like you and Sophie."

Stiles nodded, slowly. "I think I understand."

She smiled at him, grateful. "At least you're still the best at decoding nonsensical, wishy-washy run-on sentences," she said. The smile faded. "But still. Last night...I don't know, I don't know what came over me. It was like, I wanted it this one specific way, and it wasn't going to be all right if it wasn't that one specific way, because if that couldn't be exactly the way I envisioned it then everything would fall apart again and I'd be left all alone, trying to figure out a world which didn't make sense."

Stiles shook his head. "You've never been alone," he said. "Even – even when I was avoiding the hospital, you were always in the back of my mind. And Scott – he'd better not be listening to this, but if he was, he'd tell you that he was thinking about you the whole time, too. We both love you. I know that neither of us did the best we could – we screwed up and you paid the price."

Lydia put her hand on her hip, a gesture which threw into contrast the fact that she had only one arm with which to make it. Stiles cringed, hoping she didn't deduce what he'd noticed about the gesture. "What could you have done differently?" she asked.

"I don't know," Stiles said, running his hands through his hair. "Figured out how to stop that thing out there quicker? Hit it really hard with a big stick that turned out to be made of magical 'stop-evil-creatures' wood and kept it from hurting you? Visited you at the hospital despite the mind-numbing fear that you'd hate me for the rest of our lives because of what happened with Sophie?"

"How about something realistic?"

"Okay," Stiles said, a little annoyed with the imperious tone of voice she was using. _Old Lydia tactics_, he thought. _Not old-old Lydia tactics, but still, I recognize this._ "I could have at least not enjoyed what happened with Sophie."

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. The best case scenario he could think of was that the conversation would simply end there and she'd go back to ignoring him. He half expected her to take a swipe at him for it. To his surprise, instead, she spoke, clearly and succinctly, without missing a beat. "That's not realistic, either," she said. She sighed again. "Stiles, just because I'd had a boatload of not great experiences with sex, doesn't mean I can't love you for having a good one with another girl. It doesn't taint you. It doesn't make you a lesser person. And it doesn't change how you feel about _me._"

He could practically hear her gritting her teeth. "You sure that's how you feel?" he asked.

"Does it hurt?" Lydia asked. "Yes. Did I want to be the one you lost your virginity with? Yes. Did I want us having sex to be ten times as epic as whatever everyone else in the house gets up to? Maybe, although I'd like to think I had more reasonable expectations in that department. Does it eat at my self-esteem a little that you had really awesome sex with another girl and then had really mediocre sex with me? Yes. The list goes on. Sex screws you up, I knew that, you're just finding it out, but it still doesn't change _us_. Just like - " here she paused, her voice cracking, and she looked down at the stump of her right arm, "just like me losing my arm doesn't change us. I know when you look at me you don't – you don't see some _cripple_, someone to be pitied, some thing that's less than it was. Even though sometimes I feel – irrationally – like that's what everyone, you included, must think, I _know_ it isn't true. And sometimes I have trouble making what I _know_ more important than what I _feel_, and maybe that's because Bealstock turned me into a total headcase when he took my arm, or maybe it's because I'm a werewolf, or maybe it's just because that's how people are sometimes. But I need you to trust me when I'm at my lowest ebb, to guide me in the right direction when I lose my way, to bring me back when I'm falling. I don't think anyone else can do it."

Stiles' brow was furrowing again. "What happened last night?" he asked, quietly, although he could already guess. He felt tears welling behind his eyes, but willed them to stay hidden, at least until he heard the explanation from Lydia and could then explain to her why he was crying. "After you left?"

"What do you think happened?" Lydia asked, although there wasn't even a trace of sarcasm in the retort. "I went out to get laid. I called Jackson, of all people. Figured maybe this time he'd actually be good for something in the sack. But when I got to his house, I realized that that he'd either look at me like he always used to, like something he could use, or he'd look at me like – like I was just saying, like a cripple, a damaged, disgusting _thing_. And I figure that whatever it is about sex which cures what Bealstock does to us, we have to be really _into_ the sex in order for it to work – otherwise what we did last night would have done the trick – and I knew, right then, that there was no possible way I could be _into_ it with someone who looked at me like that. I don't think I can be into it with anyone who doesn't look at me the way you do."

"So you didn't fuck him?" Stiles asked, a little confused.

"Hmm?" Lydia asked. "Oh. Yes, I did. Figured it was worth a shot in case I was wrong, which I wasn't. Plus, I don't need him spreading it around the school that I'm a tease." She could finally detect the tears in his eyes. "I don't have to apologize to you, Stiles. Not after everything."

He nodded. "You're right, you don't," he said. "And I don't have to forgive you, either. There's a kinda startling lack of 'have to' in this relationship."

"Relationship?" Lydia asked, smiling weakly again. "Is that what we have here?"

Stiles took a step forward, so that he and Lydia were only about a foot apart. "I'd like for it to be, yes," he said. "We've been dodging this for months, trying not to put labels on things, trying to take it slow and just see where things go. Maybe that works for people whose lives aren't as ridiculous as ours, but I think _we_ need to just set it all out on the table. I want a relationship with you. I want you to be my girlfriend."

"He says after I just told him I fucked another guy last night."

Stiles shook his head. "You think I don't know _why_ you did that?" he asked. "You did it because I failed to do something for you last night, something you had every reason to expect from me. I knew you were going to do it when you left and I figured it out in my head that I was okay with it. It's not anything you haven't done with him before, and like you said, it doesn't change who you are. Maybe if we'd laid things out like this earlier, if we were committed to each other or whatever, then it would have made more of a difference, but it didn't, and it doesn't. I – I still love you. I don't want to sound tacky, I know you hate that, but I think I always will, I - "

Whatever he was about to say was drowned out when the one-armed werewolf closed the gap between them and kissed him. He felt her arm go around his back and he wrapped his own around her shoulders. They'd kissed plenty, and they'd had _sex_ last night for God's sake, but none of it had felt quite like this.

A moment later they pulled apart, Stiles taking care not tangle up her arm. Her eyes were still closed when his opened, and she was smiling, an arch grin that reminded him of the best times, when it'd been him and her and Scott against the world. "That was _much_ better," she said. "If I had to grade, which you know I'd enjoy doing, I'd give A's in both effort and timing, and maybe a B+ in execution."

"B+?" Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lydia's grin turned wicked. "A little more tongue next time," she said, making the statement sound simple and airy, but Stiles felt himself shudder.

"I'll remember that," he said.

Lydia's grin relaxed into something more casual, and her eyes were practically shining. _So long as they don't start glowing blue_, Stiles thought. _No better way to spoil the moment than have a transformation double her over in pain_. "What about Sophie?" she asked.

Stiles sighed again. "I don't know," he said. "I mean, she's definitely more than a friend. And I'm definitely still attracted to her."

Lydia blushed. "Me too," she admitted. When Stiles gaped, Lydia got defensive. "What, you think all that 'we all need to have sex together' stuff was going to benefit you alone? How many times do I need to remind you about how non-conservative I am about sex?"

Stiles held up his hands. "Okay, okay," he said. "Got it, although in the future you can drop little hints about stuff like this. For instance, saying "I'm bisexual" would have been a great clue."

Lydia punched Stiles in the shoulder. "Seems I told you once that I could put up with your sense of humor," she said, remembering a time in a mall that felt like years previous. "I think – I want to hear more of it, now. Stiles making jokes is part of the world that I know."

"So my stupid jokes are going to help keep you grounded?" Stiles asked. When Lydia nodded, he bent forward to kiss her again. "FYI, I'm trying to come up with something witty to say about lightning and being grounded right now. Once I think of it, it's gonna be _epic_."

***[]***

Bridget had been walking through the woods for hours. She'd actually had to stop and rest a couple of times, secure in the knowledge that Scott was attuned to everything she was doing and would be able to adjust his own course to match hers, even stopping when she stopped. During the time they'd been walking around it had gotten dark out. _I wish I had a watch_, she thought to herself, examining her bare wrist. She looked over head, where the moon was just shy of being full, casting a pale blue light onto the woods around her. She'd mostly managed to put the paranoia that came with every owl's hoot and every rustling tree out of her mind after the first ten minutes of wandering around, trying to find the creature whose singular desire in the world was to eat her flesh.

_Do not think of it that way. That is the way that leads to running and screaming. You are saving your sisters. And preventing Declan and father from doing something stupid to save you. Just hold on to that._

Which would have been easier if Bealstock would have just shown up, already.

Walking around for hours had given Bridget time to mull over everything that had happened, with particular respect to the fact that, once again, she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell Declan that she loved him, despite _really_ wanting to. She'd turned over a few alternate ways of looking at it – he had not yet said the words to her, either, and _surely_ she'd have been able to respond to him if he'd initiated it, right? In the end, though, she wasn't able to get at the reason why she hadn't been able to initiate it herself, and so had dropped the subject.

Instead, she'd made plans, which felt like the healthiest thing to do when literally walking into a deadly situation.

First, she thought about the house. While she liked the idea of staying there – Scott had been more than just a friendly host – she could see where it would be a problem for them all to keep living together indefinitely. Her father in particular couldn't sleep on the couch forever. So either the house would require renovations, which seemed like too much to ask of Scott, whose attachment to the house had as much to do with it reminding of him of his dead mother as it had to do with it being his primary source of shelter, or they'd have to think about finding an alternate place to live.

It wouldn't be so bad, she reasoned. As great as Scott had been, she doubted that he would mind extra privacy for himself and Allison. And moving out presented the unique possibility of getting a place to live with Declan. As soon as that thought had entered her mind she'd latched onto it, picturing a modest but livable apartment, which she'd gone room by room through, decorating in a way that she would find pleasing and Declan, she thought, would find tolerable. She wondered idly how Declan would feel about furnishing their own apartment – he'd been raised in motels, always on the road, and had never had a space to decorate before. _Another first time_, Bridget had thought to herself, and the thought had made her smile.

Which, she realized a second later, was counter-productive to the part she was playing. She had to convince Bealstock that she'd come here to die. If she was getting all dreamy about the apartment she planned to share with Declan someday she wouldn't much look like a girl who'd decided to die, would she? The smile melted away. Try as she might, though, she couldn't bring herself to picture never seeing him again, or any of the other myriad things that she'd _actually_ be thinking about if she'd resolved to die in the woods for her family.

So she pushed the image of their little apartment into the back of her mind and kept it there, not letting it make her smile happily, but not letting go of it, either. _I want that_, she thought to herself. _I will be fine so that I can have it._

"_Little nymph,_" an icy voice rose out of the forest, and Bridget didn't quite manage to suppress a shudder. _Game time. Be strong. Declan would be strong._ "_What's a lost little nymph doing in Bealstock's woods?_"

Bridget turned around in a circle, trying to pinpoint where the arez-grou's voice was coming from, but she couldn't tell. When she completed a single revolution she found that she was staring into it's face, only a few feet away. "_Boo_," it said, as she stumbled backward in surprise, landing on the forest floor.

"Bridget," another voice sounded, and a second later Curtis stepped out of the shadows next to Bealstock. "What are you doing here, darling? Going for a stroll?"

"I'm - " Bridget started, but then she stopped. Bealstock's hood was keeping the creature's face in shadow, just like it always did, but it was so _close_ and she'd never been this close to it before, and while she couldn't see it's face she could see the slight glint of it's row of sharp teeth in the moonlight. "I'm here - " she started again and faltered again, and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm here to make a trade."

"_A trade?_" Bealstock muttered. She heard, rather than saw, it lick it's lips, and somehow she felt like it was staring at her neck. "_What does little nymph have for Bealstock? Does it wish to trade coins for it's life? Some have tried. But Bealstock does not eat coins, little nymph. Do you know what Bealstock eats?_"

"Yes," Bridget said, a little ashamed that her voice was barely above a whisper. "You eat – you eat people like me."

"Not people, darling," Curtis said, and Bridget eyed him quickly. Was it just her or were his teeth sharper...? "'fraid you don't qualify as 'people.' If you did you wouldn't be on the menu, would you?"

"N-no," she stuttered, again cursing herself. _I am glad Declan is not here to see me like this_, she thought. _I am glad he isn't here to see any of what is about to happen, either_. "Look, here it is," she said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady while she delivered the speech she'd gone over and over in her head. "I figure you need to eat to live. I – we get that. We don't want it to be us, but there can't be very many people – er, not-people who meet your standards. Why would you have spent so much time hunting us otherwise?"

Bealstock wasn't moving. "_Go on_," it said, it's voice lacking the nursery-rhyme quality for the first time that Bridget had heard. She didn't know whether that was encouraging or terrifying.

"So here it is," she said, her voice regaining strength. She climbed to her feet. "You get me. I – I give myself up to you, and in return you leave them alone. You get a little of what you want, we get a little of what we want."

Bealstock grinned, a horrifying thing to watch. "_Bealstock already has all four of you,_" the creature said, and she could _see_ it's tongue, which was gray and looked cracked like stone, slip out over it's teeth this time. She resisted the urge to look away. "_Why would Bealstock give the others up? Just because you have come here willingly?_"

"You won't be able to find them," Bridget replied. _Keep your back straight_, she thought. _Don't show it fear. Don't show it fear!_ "They'll be long gone, on planes to distant parts of the world, far away from here."

"_Bealstock can track them,_" the creature said, but Bridget thought it sounded unsure, and her heart leaped. _This may actually work!_

"Of course you can," she said. "But that'd take a lot of time, wouldn't it? And while you can go for a long time between meals, you don't want to go that long. What's faster, taking the time to track my sisters and Lydia down? Or just finding a newly-bitten werewolf who hasn't killed yet?"

"So, what, you're a decoy while the others get away?" Curtis asked. He had a hand on his hip; the other hand held a gun. "No way would my father have gone for that. Or my dear brother, for that matter."

"They didn't know!" Bridget blurted. _Don't overdo it, don't overdo it..._ "I left letters. You think any of them would have let me do this? They're probably opening them right now. I got the tickets and everything before I left."

Curtis was shaking his head. _He's not buying it_, Bridget thought. Before she could think of something to say to convince him, Bealstock spoke. "_How did little nymph think this would work?_" it asked.

"You – you take me," she said, the words forming in her mind as she went. _Perfect._ "Then you leave them alone. And – and one other thing. I told them – I didn't tell Declan what I'd done. His letter, it just says I left. Please – please, Curtis, whatever you do, don't tell him, okay?"

Curtis stopped shaking his head and slowly his lips pulled back into a smile. "Don't tell Declan?" he crowed. "Sister dear, I'm going to write him a letter with your blood telling him every last thing you screamed as you died." He looked over at Bealstock. "Think we can make it to the house before the rest of them get on those planes?"

As Bridget's blood ran cold – they wouldn't find her sisters at the house, but they'd find enough to know that they hadn't left, and then the game would be up – Bealstock, of all creatures, saved her from despair by shaking it's hooded head. "_Need to eat, first_," it said, motioning to the hole in it's shirt from where Allison had shot it in their last encounter. "_If we catch them, that is good. If not, Bealstock has still dined beautifully._"

Before Bridget could blink, the thing had closed the gap between them and picked her up by her throat, raising her a few feet off the forest floor to be eye-to-eye with it. She gasped, the breath knocked out of her, and as Bealstock squeezed, she wondered if she'd miscalculated, if it would kill her first after all. But then it grabbed her right arm roughly with it's other hand and flipped it over, exposing the underside of her wrist – where her arteries were blue against her skin, in part from the cold – and then Bealstock's head shot forward and she felt those teeth, like a million white-hot needles, penetrate her skin.

The agony was unbearable, but through it she could tell that almost as soon as Bealstock had begun to close this jaw, to actually tear a chunk of her wrist away, that the creature faltered and wavered. _Is it working? _she thought, but Bealstock was still holding her up by the neck and she couldn't see it well enough to tell.

But then a second later she felt it's teeth recede from the gashes they'd made in her flesh, and the night air on the hundred or so tiny little puncture wounds actually made them worse and she cried out around Bealstock's grip on her throat, but as she did so she realized that the creature wasn't holding on as tight, was in fact lowering her to the ground, and then it let go of her and she dropped the rest of the way down, only about a foot, but between the sudden, unexpected release, the oxygen deprivation, and the relentless pain in her wrist, Bridget wasn't nimble enough to stay standing and collapsed to the forest floor.

She looked up in time to see Bealstock sway and collapse down to it's knees. Curtis, alarm all over his face, stepped over to the arez-grou, laying a hand on it's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Bealstock's horrible, glowing red eyes were wide beneath it's hood when it looked at Bridget. "_What has little nymph done?_" it asked. "_What is wrong? Little nymph is pure, but so, so unpure, so..._"

"Surprise, bitch."

Bridget swiveled around, cradling her bleeding arm. Scott was standing a few feet away, his own eyes glowing red, his claws out and his hair shaggier. Curtis cast a glance down at Bridget. "So it was a trap," he muttered.

"Stand down, Curtis," Scott said, eying the young man hungrily. "This ends badly for you if you don't. Your friend there is done for. You don't have to be too."

Curtis sneered at Scott. "Take your best shot, wolf-boy."

Scott snarled and lunged for Curtis. Curtis, to Bridget's surprise, didn't raise his gun to shoot Scott. Instead, Curtis waited for the Alpha to be right on top of him before swinging his fist up in a right hook that caught Scott on the side of the head.

Instead of breaking Curtis' hand, which is what should have happened, Scott's trajectory was altered, sending him sprawling into a tree trunk. There was a muffled crunch as he made contact with it. As he started to slide down, wrapped awkwardly around it from the force of the impact, Curtis did raise his gun and fire twice into Scott's abdomen.

Bridget screamed as Scott's blood sprayed everywhere.

Curtis grinned down at her. "What, you thought we were just sitting on our heels out here, waiting for you bunch to come and find us?" he asked. "He's making me better. Faster. Stronger." He turned his attention to Bealstock, which was still crouching on the ground in front of Bridget. "Bealstock, are you okay?"

To Bridget's horror, the creature raised its head. "_Yes_," it said, and Bridget felt her heart sink until it felt like it was a foot underground. "_But we must go. Others coming. Will distract._" It's eyes glowed stronger briefly, and Bridget saw a green light in the forest not too far away flare up. "_Used Minthe's powers again. That will distract them. But we must go, now. Bring the girl._"

She felt Curtis' hands on her instantly. She tried to fight back, punching at him, but the action caused the searing pain in her arm to double, and then a second later Curtis' fist connected with her jaw, making her see stars. She had only enough time to feel herself being hoisted onto Curtis' shoulders before she blacked out.

***[]***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, that doesn't sound promising, does it? As always, drop a review and let me know what you think.


	26. By Threads

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow! 200K words as of last chapter. This thing is a _beast_. Figured I'd throw this one down a day earlier than usual, due to my having shit to do this weekend that will take me away from the interwebs. As always, leave a comment letting me know what you think.

BY THREADS

Sunlight.

Then pain.

Scott opened his eyes and coughed, feeling dried blood on his mouth. He was in the woods, that much he understood; he was against a tree, and there were pine needles under him, and there was an enormous burning sensation in his chest. Slowly, painfully, Scott looked around him, still confused about _why_ he was waking up in pain in the woods. He looked up at the sun and it had to be around noon, judging by how high it was in the sky.

When he went to stand, a shooting pain in his chest made him slip back down. Sputtering, feeling more of his own blood come leaking out of his mouth, he finally looked down at himself. The shirt he wore, a simple black t-shirt, had two neat round holes, which corresponded with the burning sensation in his chest.

_Silver bullets_, he thought, and the events of the night previous started coming back to him. _Curtis shot me with silver bullets. After he punched me way harder than he should have been able to._ With some difficulty, Scott reached around to feel at his chest; the wounds hadn't closed. _And apparently he's having at least some of the same effect as Bealstock on my healing. Great._

It took ten years' worth of misery for Scott to be able to pull himself to his feet. Once he was there, he found that it was easier to take his first step. The more steps he took, the more distance he put between himself and the site where he'd fought Curtis and lost, the easier it got to walk. When, a few minutes later, he checked the wounds again, they'd closed, but the intense burning in his chest remained. _What the hell is this?_

Grimacing with the remaining pain, he raised his head as much as possible and sniffed at the wind. He was deluged with the familiar overload of information, which he sorted quickly through until he found what he was looking for – the vague scent that screamed "Allison" in his brain. _She'll be with the others_, he thought. _Have to find them. Can't go after Bridget alone._

_ Assuming she's still alive._

Scott followed Allison's scent for another few minutes, limping along. Every time he tried to increase his pace and his heart would start to beat faster, the burning in chest would get worse, so after two tries to break into a light jog that ended with him bent over double clutching his chest, he resigned himself to a light walk which kept the burning at a minimum.

After what felt like an eternity, Scott caught sight of them.

The group were spread over a few feet, all of them passed out. Scott checked them all quickly – all breathing – and then moved to Allison. When she'd fallen, her bow had landed at her side, and quiver had upended, spilling arrows with silver shafts all over the ground around her and on her back. Delicately, Scott picked up one of the arrows and, before it could leave a burn, tossed it aside. Thus cleared of silver, Scott began shaking Allison's shoulder.

After a moment, she stirred. "Scott?" she asked, looking up at him. "What happened?"

"Bealstock," Scott said, and the effort to speak cost him again as the burning flared up. "Used Nia's power against you again. Got away with Bridget."

"He's not dead?" Allison asked, her eyes getting larger. She rolled over and sat up to face him more directly.

"No," Scott said, and he coughed again. "And Curtis is...Curtis is stronger. Not as strong as Bealstock, but stronger than he should be. And he messed with my healing, but I think it's okay now, except I've got this weird burning feeling in my chest. But Allison, _they've got Bridget_."

Allison glanced toward the sky and paled. "And it must be about noon," she said. "So they've had her for hours." Scott nodded, slowly. "I'll wake the others," Allison said, and Scott nodded again, grateful, and sat down on the ground next to where she'd been.

In short order, Chris, Kate, Gunther, Declan, Stiles, Sophie, Nia, Lydia, and Deaton were all awake and alert. Chris pulled out his phone and started calling around to his hunters. It took him four tries to find one who answered, and that one reported that most of their men were dead after running into "some punk kid with a gun who was a lot faster than other punk kids with guns."

Gunther, meanwhile, approached Scott, who was still laying on the ground. "What happened, Scott?" the old hunter asked, his eyes big and round. "Where's Bridget?"

Scott closed his eyes. _This is the worst feeling in the world_, he thought. _I wish the damn burning feeling would just burn me alive so I wouldn't have to feel like this. Or tell him what I have to tell him._ When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Declan had joined his father, also looking apprehensive. _Great. That much worse_. "He took her," he said. "When Bealstock bit her, it definitely knocked him down a peg, but I hadn't accounted for Curtis being stronger. I attacked Curtis, he caught me off guard, punched me and shot me, and whatever Bealstock's done to him made it really last. I was conscious just long enough to see them leave with her. I – I don't know if she's alive. I'm sorry. This is my fault."

Both of the hunters, the father and the son, looked like they'd been punched. Declan swayed on his feet and caught himself against his father, which was fortunate, since Gunther had gone rigid as a statue. Gunther was shaking his head. "Nah," he said, quietly, as though to himself. "Nah, that can't be how it went. She's okay, right? She's going to be fine?"

"I don't know," Scott said, looking down at the forest floor, unable to watch what his news was doing to the two men any longer. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. It's all my fault."

Declan, who'd looked ready to faint, latched onto those words, steadying himself and standing upright on his own. "No, it's not," he said, the struggle to keep his voice even evident in every word. "It's Bealstock's. And Curtis'."

Chris came walking over. "Just finished checking in with my men," he said, to the group at large. "Most of them are hurt or dead. I have two guys, Jenkins and Rollins, who figure they're in fighting shape. They're meeting us at the clinic. I suggest we get back there as fast as possible and regroup. We need to figure out our next step, fast."

Scott nodded. "I agree," he said, but when he went to push himself to his feet, the burning in his chest spiked and he couldn't help but gasp in pain.

Everyone looked down at him in alarm. "Scott?" Lydia asked. "What's wrong?"

"Curtis shot me with silver after he punched me," Scott said, clutching again at his chest where the bullet wounds had healed over. _No way should it hurt like this still_, he thought. "I think he's got some of whatever it is that makes Bealstock's wounds keep from healing, but it doesn't make sense. The bullet wounds already healed, and the bruises from where he hit me and where I hit the tree healed. But I still feel like I'm burning up inside."

Deaton stepped forward. "Let me take a look," he said, and obligingly, Scott lifted his t-shirt. Deaton felt around on Scott's chest for a moment. When he prodded the spot where Scott had been hit, Scott winced. "This is where he shot you?" Deaton asked, and Scott nodded. Deaton returned his attention to Scott's chest. _This is weird_, Scott thought. He'd seen the same concentrated look on Deaton's face when examining animals; he'd never figured he'd see it while Deaton examined _him_. "I believe I know what's happened," Deaton said, straightening up. "Curtis' punch immobilized your regenerative immune system, but only for a little while. When you woke up, it kicked back in, but it – well, for lack of a better term, it got confused."

"Confused?" Scott asked, also feeling around at the spot. "How?"

"Usually, your body will push foreign matter out before closing a wound," Deaton replied. "Bullets, for instance. For whatever reason, I believe that this time, your body simply closed the wound over the bullets. A pair of silver bullets are still embedded in your chest."

Scott felt his eyebrows going up. "What?" he asked.

"I'll need to confirm it back at the clinic," Deaton said. "X-rays will tell us for sure. But that's what I'm betting happened."

"What do we do about it?" Allison asked.

Deaton sighed, looking hard at Scott's chest. "Operate," he said. "But that will be...complicated."

"Complicated?" Allison asked, sharply. "How so?"

Deaton shook his head. "Operating on werewolves is tricky business," he said. "To my knowledge, they rarely, if ever, require it; the things that hurt them either kill them or heal naturally. If I'm right, Scott's healing factor is in full force, except for the area immediately surrounding the bullets which are causing him pain."

"So when the doctor makes an incision to get the bullets out, it'll heal again immediately," Chris finished, also looking down at Scott's chest.

Scott looked around at all of them. Gunther, Declan, Nia, and Sophie all looked like they were in various stages of shock. Chris, Deaton, Lydia, Stiles, and Allison were all looking with varying degrees of concern at him. Even Kate seemed vaguely concerned. When Scott looked closer he could see dried up tears on her face. _Nia's influence again_, he thought. "We're not going to get anything accomplished standing around here," he said. He went to stand and faltered again, and instantly Lydia and Stiles were by his side, helping him up. Once he was standing again he addressed them all. "Let's get back to the clinic and figure this out from there. I – man," he said, his head starting to swim, "I really don't feel good at all."

He swooned a bit and felt Stiles and Lydia catch his weight and keep him from sinking back to his knees. In a vague, disconnected way, he could feel his heart hammering away, much faster than it should have been. He had just enough consciousness left to him to hear Deaton yell, "It must be in his bloodstream, infecting his heart. We need to get those bullets out right away!" before he lost his grip and blacked out.

***[]***

Bridget awoke to a feeling of dampness on her cheek. _Where...?_ she started to think, but rather than complete the thought, she looked up and around. The first thing she noticed was that she was a in a cave, with light flooding in from the entrance thirty feet away. The second thing that she noticed was that her hands and feet were bound behind her back.

"That was some trick you pulled on Bealstock," a familiar, drawling voice said from behind her. She felt her blood run cold. With some difficulty, she rolled over onto her back and sat up, her tightly tied legs splayed in front of her, her hands tied behind her back. Curtis was sitting on a stool further into the cave, which she realized was relatively shallow; it only ran another twenty feet before cutting off in a jagged wall. "Truth told, I didn't think anything could hurt him. Good to know your limits, I guess."

"Why am I still alive?" Bridget asked, eying her boyfriend's brother. He had his gun out and in his hands, and was checking it over. _Just like Declan does_, she thought with a pang. It made sense that they'd look the same doing this, though – they'd learned it from the same source.

"Old Bealsy wants to make sure that whatever poison they shot you up with is out of your system before he chows down," Curtis said, pulling the slide on the gun back and then letting it snap back into place once he'd satisfied himself that it was clear. "He seemed pretty freaked that the bunch 'a you managed to find something that could actually hurt him, but whatever it is, he's pretty confident you'll have sweated it out in a little while. Say, you wouldn't be keen on telling me what it was, would you? I don't figure I'll ever have to put old Bealsy down – he's been a real pal so far – but just in case. Want to share the wealth, for old times' sake?"

"We do not have old times, Curtis," Bridget hissed. She tried worming her hands out of the ropes he'd tied her up with, but they were far too tight and well-knotted. _Figures he'd be good at tying women up_, Bridget thought. Then she shivered and pushed away all the double meanings that came with the phrase. "But you didn't answer my question. Why am I still alive?"

Curtis spun the gun around his index finger, only to catch it with it pointing right at Bridget. She winced and he grinned. "Turns out, Bealstock can't eat you unless you're alive," he said. "I don't know if that's one of his weird 'opposite' things or what, but there it is. It's not a matter of taste, either – he literally can't digest the meat if whatever it came from don't breathe anymore. That's why all them other critters he'd caught were so unbelievably messed up – he'd had to keep them alive as long as possible while eating 'em, but once they died – kinda inevitable after a little while, I guess – he couldn't eat the rest, so he just left 'em to rot."

Bridget couldn't help but look away from Curtis' gleeful enthusiasm. "And this excites you?"

"Naw," Curtis responded. He got up and walked over to crouch next to her. "What excites me is that Bealstock figures it'll be about a day before he can eat you. And you know what tonight is, right?" Bridget's eyes widened. _Full moon_. Curtis laughed at the expression on her face. "Like I said, good to know your limits. Don't suppose you know yours, do you, Bridget?"

"They'll come for me," Bridget started to say, but Curtis waved her off instantly.

"If they got half a brain, they'll figure you're dead," he replied. "Unless they know Bealstock can't eat you unless you're dead – which you didn't know, so I reckon they don't, neither – they'd have no reason to figure you're still alive. So they'll limp on back to base and try to come up with some other way to get themselves killed trying to stop him, and by the time they try anything, it'll be much, much too late for you, little sister."

"You're fucking twisted," Bridget spat.

Curtis smiled at her vehemence. "And you ain't even human," he replied, standing back up and walking over to his stool. "So I'm going to sit here and wait until that trance of yours takes over, and when you're so horny you can't tell an Arab from an orangutang, I'll untie you, and then I'll give you what you're looking for. Maybe I'll even take some pictures for dear old Declan. And if you try anything else, well, you saw what I did to your friend, and trance or no trance, you're no Alpha werewolf. And don't go thinkin' those pheromones of yours will work, neither – Bealstock's got me prepped for those, too. He's just full of tricks. Wait'll you see how many he's got for keeping you alive long enough to get the most meat off your bones. You're gonna _love_ it."

Bridget wanted to retort, to say exactly the right thing to wipe the smirk off Curtis' insane face, but she couldn't think of anything. Everything Curtis had said had been true. They'd be crazy to come running after them, crazy to not assume the worst about her. Still, against all logic, and knowing that there was no point, she closed her eyes and begged for her life, in the only quarter where it wouldn't give Curtis any pleasure. _Please know I'm still alive, Declan_, she pleaded silently. _Please don't let me go._

***[]***

The group arrived back at the clinic in a rush, Stiles and Lydia carrying an unconscious Scott, his feet dragging on the ground behind them. As they'd run, blood had started leaking out of his mouth, and out of sheer terror for the Alpha they'd redoubled their speed. By the time they burst into the clinics' doors and hoisted Scott onto an examining table, both Stiles and Lydia had a large amount of Scott's blood on them.

Deaton tossed his jacket onto a different table and began rolling up his sleeves. "This is going to be extremely difficult," he said. "I'm going to need assistance. Have any of you ever been in an operating room before?"

"Only when I was being operated on," Lydia replied, the shock of seeing Scott wheezing weakly and leaking blood from his mouth causing her to miss the fact that this statement wasn't helpful at all.

"I have," Chris said, shortly.

Deaton nodded. "Then I'm going to need your help," Deaton said. Chris nodded again. "This will go more smoothly without distractions. Everyone else...please leave us to work on Scott."

Lydia saw Allison out of the corner shake her head. "No way am I leaving."

Deaton didn't pause, turning on a faucet and scrubbing his hands with soap. "Miss Argent, I do not have time to argue with you," he said. "But the first thing you do that gets in our way could kill Scott."

Allison nodded and stepped back, but didn't make for the door. Deaton cleared his throat when he saw that none of the rest of them were leaving. Gunther snapped out of the trance he'd been in briefly and looked around at the rest of them. "Come on," he muttered. "Let's let the doc do his work."

Slowly they filed out into the reception area. The rest of them, looking shocked and distant, took up positions around the room. Lydia could still hear everything going on in the next room, and when Deaton asked Chris for a scalpel, she breathed out sharply and pushed her way out the door and into the afternoon air. Impossibly, the sun already seemed to be setting. _Where the hell did the day go?_ Lydia thought.

She heard the door open and shut behind her and turned to see Stiles standing there, a blasted expression on his face. "Lydia..." he started, but trailed off. Instead of trying to answer him, she lunged for him and, wrapping her one remaining hand in his hair, kissed him with all the intensity it took to keep her brain working through everything that was happening.

A second later he turned them both in a semi-circle and pressed her back against the wall of the clinic. She felt his lips close on hers again and – _well, I did tell him more tongue_, and then his hands were at her belt, undoing it, and she actually felt her heart speed up, which she hadn't expected, hadn't had happen in so long in a situation like this that she couldn't remember why it had the last time.

And then the door to the clinic opened again.

Lydia's first thought was to turn on whoever was interrupting them and slash them into ribbons. Luckily, she stopped short when she saw that it was Sophie, and she was looking as conflicted and shell shocked as Stiles had looked. _How I must look_. "I'm sorry," the nymph said, seeing the two of them pressed against each other, against the wall. "I didn't mean to interrupt, I just - " She was still walking toward them, slowly, her words coming in half spurts. "I don't know who to talk to, what to say, what to feel, I mean, she's my _sister_, and I feel like there's no way she could be dead, but that's just silly romanticizing, right? And right – right now I feel like, I don't know," she broke off, crying. Stiles let go of Lydia and stepped back so that both of them could square themselves toward Sophie. "I just – I want to – I don't know, just, _feel_ - "

And then she surprised all three of them by kissing Lydia.

_She's better at this than Stiles_, was Lydia's first thought. _Probably shouldn't ever tell _him_ that. _Whatever Lydia's second thought was going to be was interrupted as Sophie's wings exploded out from her back, the failing light casting a purple glow against the side of the building through them. Lydia felt Sophie's left wing folding inward, cocooning her with the nymph. She looked to her own left and saw that Sophie's right wing had similarly caught Stiles, drawing the three of them closer together. "Sophie, what are you doing?" Lydia asked.

"Panicking?" Sophie asked. "Going into my trance a little early? I don't know. I just – I want something. Right now I need something, and the two of you – I just can't picture getting what I need right now from anyone else."

Lydia looked over at Stiles, who stared back. The built in lie detector that came with being a werewolf was a wonderful tool, but every so often Lydia wished for something that would allow her more comprehensive insight into the thoughts of others. The look on Stiles' face made her revisit her desire for outright telepathy. _Is he okay with this_? she thought. _Am I okay with this? Are we okay with this? Is Sophie really okay with this? _She looked down at the mousy nymph's face, her eyes pools reflecting the purple light that filtered in through her wings, and all she saw in Sophie's eyes was that need she'd spoken to them about.

_Ah, fuck it. When have I ever been the one to hold back?_

Lydia reached forward and pulled Sophie closer to her for another kiss. As soon as their lips met, Sophie's wings unraveled, freeing them from the cocoon she'd been creating. They kissed like that for a moment more – _she could give pointers in this_ – before they pulled apart. Lydia could smell the arousal coming off of both the nymph and Stiles, but still she glanced at Sophie's wings and the road that was no more than twenty feet away. "Maybe we should take this out back."

Sophie glanced at the front door to the clinic. If anyone had come through it they'd be looking right at the three of them. "Good idea."

Lydia led the way around the building, Stiles and then Sophie following behind them. Lydia rounded the corner to the back of the clinic first and was met by Stiles next. Sophie took a second longer to get there, but when she came around the corner, Lydia saw that she'd taken the extra second to retract her wings, strip off her shirt, and re-extend them. Thus unencumbered, she fluttered her wings, bent her knees, and pushed off – and actually flew the few feet that separated her and Stiles, landing on him and pressing her face to his. Although surprised by this development, Stiles nonetheless kissed her back. "You can actually fly?"

"Apparently."

By degrees, the three of them removed the rest of their clothes. Stiles in particular had been close to fainting when, smirking at each other, Lydia and Sophie had both knelt down in front of him to drag his boxers down. Lydia had regarded this with some trepidation – she was pretty sure that none of them were looking for a repeat the night previous' events – but she resolved that even if that's how it went down again, she'd find a way to make the best of it.

Having another party participating would probably help.

It turned out not to be a concern. Stiles wound up entering Lydia first, with her arm leaning against the back of the clinic and his hands on her hips, and Sophie standing next to him rubbing his chest and kissing his shoulder. It'd felt good at first, but when Sophie dropped to her knees and her hand found it's way up between Lydia's legs, to a spot just above where Stiles was inside her, she felt her conscious brain phase out. Her entire body began to shake and, a moment later, she let out an earsplitting roar, her back arching, her fingers elongating into claws which bit into the wall, her eyes glowing bright blue...

...and her right arm sprouting from the empty stub of her shoulder.

Lydia was so surprised that she actually pitched forward and wound up catching herself with her newly-regrown arm, its claws raking down the outside of the clinic wall until she gripped it and caught herself fully. Sophie stood and Stiles took a step back, all three of them staring at Lydia's arm. Lydia readjusted her feet to keep from falling and then pried her claws loose from the wall, shaking dusty bits of drywall off and staring in utter wonder. When she looked up at her companions, that same look of wonder was there. "My arm..." she muttered. "My arm is back..."

Then the full force of what'd just happened hit her and she bounced into Stiles' arms, giving him a big, sloppy kiss, forgetting for a second all the other horrible things that had happened, and she saw happiness, real happiness, reflected on Stiles' and Sophie's faces, and she flexed her arm and felt _okay_. In a moment everything else would come rushing back and she'd feel bad about feeling so _good_ when Bridget was likely dead and Scott could very well be dying a few feet away, but, Lydia reflected, that would be in a moment; this one was hers.

***[]***

Their happy celebration over the regrowing of Lydia's arm only lasted a moment; Sophie had felt the itchy, skin-crawling sensation of her trance really heating up as she'd helped Lydia toward the orgasm which had had the unintended, but welcome, side-effect of regrowing her lost appendage. Once she was sure that Lydia wouldn't be offended by the diversion of attention over her good fortune, Sophie took Stiles in hand – _still hard, good, wasn't looking forward to having to figure out how to get that going again_ – and rubbed at him, which made him gasp slightly and turn his attention to the nymph. She let go and leaned against the wall, much the way Lydia had. Stiles got the idea and a moment later he was thrusting inside her.

Sophie hadn't been sure that Lydia would want to participate in the same way she had, and seeing the claws on Lydia's hand Sophie herself wasn't sure she wanted Lydia participating the way she had. Lydia must have sensed this because she grinned, revealing her sharpened, werewolf teeth, and instead dropped to her knees behind Stiles and slid her body under the two of them, and then she reached up with her face and pressed it upward and Sophie had just enough time to register that it was a tongue she was feeling before it hit a very specific spot and she was seeing stars.

And, involuntarily, releasing pheromones.

While every other time Sophie had used her pheromones she'd regretted it, this time she didn't. They only served to make Stiles' thrusts more fervent and Lydia's tongue work faster and sloppier. She actually considered hitting them with another dose, on purpose this time, but then thought better of it. _No need to turn them into zombies_, she thought, feeling a tingling beginning to form in her toes. _Besides, they're doing pretty good just like this_.

In short order, Sophie herself hit climax, her wings trembling madly as she did so. Stiles pulled out of her and took a step back again, leaving her panting against the side of the clinic. "I'm almost there myself," he muttered.

Lydia was still laying on her back under him. Grinning, she sat up and leaned forward, her mouth open, and Stiles gasped. Looking back over her shoulder at this development, Sophie quickly turned and dropped to her knees, joining Lydia, and a moment later – Stiles was still firmly in Lydia's mouth – Sophie felt his body tense and could even see him pulsating inside Lydia's mouth.

A second later he looked down and blushed. "Uh," he said, looking at the two faces looking up at him. Lydia was wiping her lips with her newly regrown right hand. "Sorry. I guess I should have, you know, let you know."

Lydia waved him off, again with her right hand, watching it move with her glowing blue eyes. "It's fine," she said, her voice slightly slurred around her elongated teeth. "I mean, I would like a heads up in the future, but I'll give you a pass this time on account of spontaneously regrowing a lost limb."

Stiles wobbled and then dropped to his knees next to them. "Phew," he said. He looked a little dazed. "You know, I think I know why athletes always have to be so pretty."

Sophie felt her brow furrow, but when she shot a confused look at Lydia, looking for clarification, the wolf girl's sharp teeth were showing in a patient, pleasantly annoyed smile. "Why do athletes have to be so pretty, Stiles?" Lydia asked.

"Because group sex is the best possible workout in the world. Gotta stay in shape for the new season, skipper."

Lydia shook her head and looked at Sophie. "Surest way to tell that Stiles is happy," she said. "He makes terrible jokes."

"Surest way to tell that Stiles is Stiles, more like," he said, winking at the nymph. "If you ever think I've been replaced by an evil android or something, just say 'knock knock,' and if I don't immediately yell 'peanut butter!' punch me until my robot head comes off. Then, you know, find the real me."

Lydia was shaking her head. "I'm going to shift back," she said. She closed her eyes and the claws on her fingers receded into her fingertips. To Sophie's – and by her reaction, Lydia's – surprise, Lydia's right arm also receded into Lydia's shoulder. Lydia had been resting on the arm, which meant that when it disappeared she pitched over onto her side, once again one-armed. Sophie and Stiles both froze. Lydia's mouth was open, again in shock. "You've got to be kidding," Lydia muttered, pushing herself up with her remaining hand and looking down at the stump that had just been her regrown arm. "I get my arm back for a few minutes and that's it? That's really fucking it?"

"Wait a second," Sophie said, before Lydia could descend into hysterics. "Let's think this through. Does it make any sense that it'd only regrow once?"

"Does _anything_ in our lives make sense anymore?"

"Just wait a second!" Sophie said, and both of her companions stopped talking. "When'd it regrow?"

"When I shifted," Lydia said.

"And when are you strongest?" Sophie said, latching onto the thread of logic, hoping that it wasn't about to be torn in half.

"When I'm in Beta form," Lydia said, also apparently catching on. "Wait, you think - "

"That your arm will regrow every time you shift to Beta, and recede again every time you shift back to human?" Sophie asked. "Only one way to find out."

She gave Lydia a significant look. Lydia glanced down at her shoulder and then back up at Sophie and Stiles. "I don't know," she said.

Stiles reached over and squeezed her shoulder – the one missing an arm. "Like she said, there's only one way to find out."

Lydia looked deep into his eyes for a moment, then nodded. She closed her eyes again, and when she opened them they were glowing blue. First, the claws on her left arm sprouted, and for a half second Sophie was terrified that she'd been wrong and they'd just convinced an emotionally unstable werewolf to shift while simultaneously dashing her hopes, which was sure to be a dangerous combination; but then Lydia's right arm again sprouted from her shoulder, clawed and extremely pale.

Fully transformed, Lydia looked down at the arm that had regrown again. "Huh," she said, her words again slurred slightly by her longer teeth. "So I have to be a hairy, clawed monster to have both my arms? Is that what you're telling me?" Sophie initially thought that this last question was directed at her, but then she noticed that Lydia was looking up. _She's religious?_ Sophie thought. _Wouldn't have guessed that._ Sophie was afraid that when Lydia looked down again she'd see that same rising hysteria in the werewolf girl's eyes, but instead all she saw was exultation. "Whatever. I'm a hairy clawed monster with _two arms!_" And then she was hugging both of them. Sophie felt Lydia's claws graze her back, just near where her wings met her skin, but she didn't mind.

***[]***

Back inside, Allison was watching Deaton and her father hurriedly preparing a group of surgical instruments. "Have you ever worked on a werewolf?" Deaton asked.

Chris didn't look at him, examining a scalpel instead. "Yes."

"Did it survive?" Deaton asked, his tone level; Allison felt somehow like he was judging her father without sounding judgmental at all.

"Yes," Chris said, putting the scalpel down on the counter. "For a while, anyway. None of these scalpels are going to do."

"What's wrong with them?" Allison asked, then kicked herself. _Don't get in the way!_ She thought, paling as she looked down at Scott, who was unconscious on the table; he looked pale as death, and for a second Allison had to stare frantically to detect his breathing.

"They're not silver," Chris replied. "Most of these won't cut his skin, and even the ones that do won't keep the wound open. It'll just close again right away."

Deaton shook his head. "Silver knife isn't the way to go," he said. "We make deep incisions and use silver chains to keep them from closing. I would assume that you have such a chain, yes?"

Allison felt the slightest betrayal as her father reached into his shirt and withdrew a glittering silver chain from around his neck, unclasping it so that it extended into a long, thin silver rope. Deaton took it and looked it over, then nodded. "You've clearly done something like this before," Chris said, picking up the sharpest scalpel on the table.

"Just once," Deaton replied, checking the edge of the blade himself. "And that werewolf was already dying, which is why his body couldn't do the job for him."

Chris reached over and tore at Scott's shirt, which was already torn in several places; the tear exposed the entirety of Scott's chest. At Deaton's nod, Chris picked up a marker and drew black 'x' marks on the spots where the bullets were still embedded in Scott's chest. "And why was he dying?"

Deaton lowered the scalpel to Scott's chest and Allison couldn't help but wince. _It was just yesterday that I fell asleep on that exact spot..._ "A hunter had shot him," Deaton replied, drawing a small red line with the scalpel over one of the black 'x' marks.

Chris gave him a hard look. "And did you stop to consider that there was probably a reason that hunter shot that werewolf?"

"Yes," Deaton said, bending forward to examine the incision. It seemed to shiver slightly and then closed up right before their eyes. _Damn that was fast_. "Of course, I would have preferred to ask the young man why he'd been shot, but I never did get the chance."

_You mean he didn't survive? You've done this once and your only patient didn't survive?!_ Allison felt like screaming, but the rational part of her conscious mind realized that that couldn't help anyone, least of all Scott. _Let them work_, she repeated to herself. Part of her longed to leave the room, to not have to face what was happening, but she knew that if Scott died and she wasn't there that somehow it'd be worse, although she wasn't sure _how_ it would be worse.

And she liked to think that maybe, somehow, her presence gave him strength. That maybe he could hear the other corner of her mind, the subconscious part, which was muttering, over and over, _I love you...I love you...don't let go of me, I love you..._

Chris looked down at where the incision healed itself. "His healing factor is at full strength."

Deaton nodded. "A good sign, believe it or not," he said. "The silver poisoning in his heart isn't that bad yet if his body can still heal itself from small cuts. But that will make this rather unpleasant a procedure to carry out."

Allison was about to ask him what he meant by _that_, all regard for necessary etiquette be damned, when he lowered the knife again and applied the kind of pressure one might apply when chopping a particularly tough vegetable with a chef's knife. The blade sank in several inches and, the blade up to his thumb, Deaton dragged it toward him, having to shift his shoulders to cut through Scott's skin and muscle. Blood spurted up from the gash he'd made and Allison stifled a yell. Her father ducked in quickly with the silver necklace and dropped an end of it into the new wound. There was a light hissing noise and a little smoke curled up out of the wound, and Allison's nostrils were filled suddenly with the smell of burning flesh, and if she wasn't so horrified by what she was watching she may have thrown up then and there.

"Hold it open," Deaton said, and Chris dropped the other end of the necklace into the wound, the hissing growing worse.. Chris took hold of the two ends, inside Scott's flesh, and used them to pry the wound – which was attempting to close – open further.

After a second of making sure that he was keeping the wound open, Chris nodded to Deaton. "Cut him again." Deaton reached in delicately past Chris' hands, but then bared down on the knife again and dug further into Scott's open chest. Her father attempted to follow the new cut down, but the angle that Deaton had reached in at was bad and they bumped hands. "Damn it!" Chris said, almost losing hold of the necklace, but he managed to keep from dropping it – which, Allison guessed, would have meant the cut would have closed again, ejecting the necklace and forcing them to start over. "Going to have to redo that one."

Deaton nodded and reached in again. "Let's coordinate this time," the doctor said, looking up at Chris. "I'll count it down. When I reach one, I'll cut him and withdraw as quickly as possible, and you'll push the necklace down further to keep the deeper part open. Okay?" Chris nodded. Deaton and Chris both looked back down at Scott's open chest. Each number that Deaton read off sounded like a gunshot in Allison's ears. "Three, two...one!"

Deaton again sliced deep and hard, but this time pulled back instantly as well, and Chris pressed the ends of the necklace down further. The hissing picked up again briefly but subsided quicker. Deaton took notice of this as well, taking a second to feel for Scott's pulse. He paled and re-examined the wound they were creating. "One more should do it, I think," he said. He readied the scalpel again and again Deaton and Chris made eye contact. "Three, two...one!"

Again, Deaton plunged the knife downward and cut, but this time instead of the wet tearing sound of Scott's flesh, a slight, tinny noise resounded as the knife struck something metallic. Deaton hastily withdrew, allowing Chris to pus the necklaces ends down further. "Good!" Deaton said, looking at Chris' progress. "Can you get the ends of the necklace around the bullet?"

"I think so," Chris said. Allison regarded her father closely. He was sweating and there was just the slightest tremble in his torso from the exertion it was taking to keep the ends held firm, even as Scott's body hissed and crackled and burned and tried to heal over him. "What's your idea, doctor?"

"We can't cut around the bullets," Deaton said, watching as Chris poked and prodded the necklace to get it around the bullet. "And it's hopeless to try and cut an exit path large enough for the bullets. Just getting a single incision deep enough to reach it was – well, you just saw, it'd take far too long and might not even be possible to cut away enough of Scott's musculature to simply lift the bullet out. So we're going to have to pull it out."

Chris actually stopped moving and for a horrible second Allison was afraid he'd dropped the ends of the necklace. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Deaton looked Chris in the eye, the doctor's steel nerves unwavering. _How the hell does he do that?_ Allison wondered, even as she was wondering how she was managing to keep her own sanity about her. "It's the only way, Chris," Deaton said. "We either wrap the necklace around the bullets and tear them out, or they're not coming out, and Scott will die. Can you do it?"

Chris nodded, instantly, and the lump that had risen in Allison's throat at the words 'Scott will die' receded a bit. "Of course I can do it," he said, refocusing his attention on poking and prodding with the ends of the necklace. "But this is the craziest operation I've ever heard of."

"Never had to have a tooth pulled the old fashion way?"

"No. My teeth are perfect."

"Figures."

"Okay," Chris said, looking down at the necklace. He pulled lightly on it and it resisted. "Now or never." Allison watched her father take a deep breath, and then yanked on the necklace.

The reaction from Scott was instantaneous.

Scott's back arched and his eyes scrunched up in pain. The hissing sound doubled in intensity and there was another huge spurt of blood, most of which hit Chris in the face. The bullet didn't pull free and, looking down as Scott's body twitched – Allison raised her hands to her mouth to keep herself from screaming – Chris adjusted his grip on the necklace and yanked again. The necklace, shining bright in the spots where it wasn't covered in Scott's blood, came free, flinging a little, crushed bit of silver into the air. It clattered down again on the counter across the room. Slowly, Scott settled back down onto the table, his body no longer twitching, and the wound that Deaton and Chris had made to get the bullet out slowly closed.

Allison felt her eyes drawn to the bullet lying on the counter. It was so tiny – about the size of a dime and less than an inch thick in its crushed state. _That tiny little thing was killing Scott?_ Allison thought. _I've seen him get shot dozens of times and _that_ almost did it._ Allison saw her father staring at the bullet with a look of astonishment on his face. _He's probably thinking the same thing_, Allison thought.

Deaton cleared his throat. Both Allison and Deaton looked around at him. "There's still another one in there," Deaton said. Allison felt her stomach plummet again. "Get ready. We have to do that again."

***[]***

"Not much longer now, little sister," Curtis said, standing by the entrance to the cave, watching as the sun began to set. When he turned back to face her, she could see that he was grinning ear to ear. She no longer trusted herself to speak – she'd started sweating and shaking slightly. _It's coming on early_, she thought. _Why is it coming on early this time of all times?_

"Wonder what it'll be like," Curtis said, turning to look back out of the cave. "It's been weeks since I've gotten laid you know. I don't think I been without this long since I was fifteen. Not sure if I want to take my time with you or get in and get it done, rough and tumble, you know? You got a preference? I'll pretend to care, if it'll make you hotter." He glanced over at her shoulder. She stared back, determinately silent. "No? No matter, really. Just makin' conversation 'till the big moment. I know you won't admit it, but I know you're looking forward to it, too. My brother's a nice guy and all, but once you get a load of what a real man's like, you'll never go back. Well, literally, I guess, since we're gonna kill you afterward. Say, was 'get a load' a pun in this situation, you think?"

"Don't talk about him," Bridget said, her teeth grating. It cost her to get the words out but she didn't care. "Don't talk about Declan. You don't deserve to."

"Oh, come on, don't be so cross with me," Curtis said, turning around again and walking over to her and crouching down so they could be at eye level. "I mean, shit, you're gonna die in less than twenty-four hours, and I'm offerin' you the only thing'll feel good between now and your horrible death. You should be _thankin'_ me. Most do, you know. 'Thank you for fuckin' me, Curtis,' that's exactly what they say. Maybe you'll say it too once you been there." Bridget returned her own gaze to the opening of the cave, avoiding Curtis' eyes. He laughed and straightened back up, heading over to the cave entrance. "Fine, be that way. Won't be that way much longer, like I said."

Bridget let her eyes close. _I will not give in to this_, she thought, angry determination flooding through her mind. _I will not allow him to have what he thinks he deserves._ Instead of staring at the cave entrance or planning absurd, elaborate escapes, Bridget felt her mind summon up the image of the apartment, of living with Declan, of seeing him next to her every morning.

_Focus on that_, she thought, beginning a mental tour of their imaginary shared living space. _Focus on that. Don't give in._

***[]***

Declan felt numb. He'd felt a lot of pain in his life – growing up without a mother and, honestly, mostly without a father; fighting things that had a propensity for hurting him since long before he should have even thought about doing things like that, and most recently the betrayal of his brother, who, up until a couple months previous, he'd considered his closest friend in the world – all of those things had hurt. Finding out that Bridget had been taken by Bealstock, was in all likelihood already dead, didn't feel like anything, or more accurately it felt like nothing.

There was a thought that wanted to poke through the haze, and though Declan didn't consciously acknowledge what it was, he knew that if he let it out he'd break down and he wasn't sure when he'd be able to come out of it.

He'd tried talking to his father, but he may as well have been talking to a statue. Gunther, he could tell, was in a similar near-fugue state. He'd muttered the classic reassurances that everything would be okay and that they'd get through it, but he'd looked millions of miles away and it hadn't been believable at all. Not that Declan had been looking to believe him.

The door to the clinic clicked open and Stiles, Sophie, and Lydia walked in, all three of them rearranging their clothes, looking flushed. _Huh_, Declan thought. _Guess it's about time. Or, you know, something. _His first thought was to turn to his side and ask Bridget her thoughts on this development, maybe catch a glimpse of his girlfriend's quickly disappearing sense of scandal rearing up, but of course there was no one at all beside him, just an empty space which suddenly seemed to stretch for miles all around. Declan shook his head, trying to clear it, but he couldn't shake the feeling and it gnawed at his stomach.

"Uh," Lydia said, looking around at the somber crowd and deflating a bit. Stiles and Sophie both stopped short, Sophie's face draining completely of color again as well. "Sorry. Uh, we have news. My arm is back."

Nia looked over at her. "No, it isn't," she said. _Single longest sentence she's uttered in weeks_, Declan thought, looking at his dark-haired sister's face, which was mostly obscured by said hair. _What the hell's going through her mind right now?_

Lydia looked down at where Nia was looking, to the stump of her arm. "Oh," she said. "Uh, yeah. It regrows when I shift. So, uh, I guess I'm back in the fight. Or more than fifty percent in the fight, anyway."

"That is great news, Lydia," said a voice from the doorway. Everyone assembled turned and looked. Deaton, flanked by Chris and Allison Argent, was standing there. He peeled a bloody glove off and tossed it into a trash can. _Can't possibly be sanitary,_ Declan thought. Idly he wondered how many trivial things he could distract himself with and how long he'd be able to keep it up. _Whole generation out there spends its night watching American Idol. Figure maybe I can too. Better than...better than thinking...oh God, she's gone, isn't she?Don't let her be gone. Don't let her be gone. She can't be gone. I never told her._

"How is he?" Stiles asked, the words barely breaking through the despairing haze of Declan's mind.

Deaton nodded. "He'll be okay," he said. "Like I said, the surgery was difficult. We actually had to use silver in order to keep the incisions open long enough to extract the bullets. Only a minimal amount reached his heart or else he might very well be dead right now, but it's impossible to tell how long it'll be before he's back to full strength."

"Not...impossible."

***[]***

Scott's words came from behind the doctor and they all turned, startled, and made their way back into the room where they'd just operated on Scott. Slowly, all the others followed, until they all stood in a circle around the table on which Deaton and Chris had just torn a pair of bullets out of Scott's chest. Rather than lying on the table, Scott was standing on it. His shirt hung in tatters and he was covered in his own blood; however his skin was entirely unmarked, making him look completely healed from what he'd just endured.

"Scott?" Deaton asked. Scott was looking down at the floor, his eyes masked from everyone's view. "You should be resting."

"No."

The word seemed to reverberate through the clinic. "No?" Deaton asked, a little dumbfounded by the simple, straightforward, yet completely unexpected answer. There wasn't the slightest trace of weakness in Scott's voice; it sounded strong, steady, and sure.

"No," Scott repeated, still looking down. He was breathing heavily, but not from pain or exertion. Rage was radiating off of him like heat from liquid metal. "That thing out there has Bridget. Maybe she's already dead, maybe not. But I'm sick of running. I'm sick of 'maybe' and I'm sick of waiting and I'm sick to _death_ of resting. No more. If Bridget's alive, we're rescuing her, _tonight_." Scott began to look up. An unspoken signal passed between him and Lydia and Lydia's eyes glowed blue, her claws – and arm – extending. Scott's eyes were glowing brilliant, bloodily red as his teeth and claws also extended. "We hurt it last night. If it can be hurt, it can be killed. One way or the other, tonight, I'm tearing that thing apart."

***[]***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Shit. Is. On.


	27. Feed Your Soul the Fire

FEED YOUR SOUL THE FIRE

Scott looked around at his assembled friends and allies. The animal part of him was thrilled to see that Lydia had already transformed, and the human side of him was pleasantly shocked to see that her missing right arm had regrown. There would be time to hear about that later, though. Scott sniffed at the air in the clinic. The most overpowering scent was of his own blood, which was everywhere – covering his own clothes, the table he stood upon, even all over Deaton and Chris and Lydia and Stiles. Other animals would probably have been scared to sense so much of their own blood outside their body; but Scott, the Alpha werewolf, got _angry_.

Scott flexed his claws and felt his teeth elongated and knew that his eyes were burning blood red and for the first time the whole thing – and the desire to find one very specific living creature and tear it's flesh into shreds – felt _good_.

Scott regarded each of his companions.

Lydia was ready for a fight; there was something unspoken that had passed between them when he'd transformed, some kind of pack instinct which had instructed her to prepare for a fight. Scott wondered if that violated what he'd told Lydia about never giving her orders through the pack bond, but he pushed the notion aside. Again, there would be time for questions like that later.

Allison, too, looked ready for a fight. At his words she'd picked up her bow off the counter behind her and started checking it to make sure it was all in working order. He could detect the lingering scent of fear on her – she'd clearly been afraid, watching them do what'd been necessary to save his life – but when she'd heard the resolve in his voice she'd reacted by supporting him, instantly and unequivocally, and the fierce joy and pride that Scott felt toward his girlfriend was a new high all by itself.

Stiles and Kate, paradoxically, both wore similar expressions – the slightest confusion and apprehension at Scott making such a strong declaration so quickly, but also resolution and agreement. Kate pulled her hunting rifle off her back and cocked it, nodding, and Stiles also nodded his assent to Scott's declaration of intent.

Sophie and Nia both looked frightened – _duh, that's their sister out there_ – but Scott detected strength and determination winning out of over the fear in both of them. Everything about Sophie's posture looked different, as Scott looked at her, another detail he'd need to revisit later. Nia looked calm and reserved – how she'd looked since the first time Bealstock had used her powers against them – but her heart was beating like mad.

Deaton, as ever, looked impassive, although there was a definite note of surprise that Scott was not only standing, but seemed to radiating pure power. Scott could practically see his boss examining his every reaction, sussing out how it was possible and what it meant for his understanding of werewolves in general.

Declan and Gunther both still looked shell-shocked. Both men had winced noticeably when Scott had bluntly stated that he wasn't sure if Bridget was alive or not. _Possible problems,_ Scott thought. _I need them angry, not despairing._

And lastly there was Chris. "Scott," Chris said, trying to sound gentle. "You've just been through a tremendous ordeal. You shouldn't be _standing_, let alone going off to fight Bealstock."

Scott turned his blood-red gaze on the hunter. "And I suppose you're going to fight him without me?" Scott asked, his words slurring around his teeth. "Face it, I'm our best bet against Bealstock, weakened or not. You probably won't even be able to find him without me."

"Uh, Scott?" Stiles asked. "How do you figure we'll find him?"

"We're going back to the place he bit Bridget," Scott replied, hopping lithely down off the table. "With any luck I can catch a scent and we can use it to track them. Bealstock was really messed up by biting Bridget, hopefully he didn't cover his tracks as well as he usually does."

Chris caught Scott's arm. Scott felt that the hunter wasn't being gentle, and so in kind flexed the muscles in his arm and kept moving, just enough to show Chris that he wasn't put off. Chris stumbled a little, but kept himself upright. He looked down at his hand on Scott's arm, then looked back up at Scott. "This is insane," Chris said. "They nearly killed you. Are you sure about this?"

Before Scott could answer, Gunther spoke up, blurting words out before he'd seemingly thought them through. "Can you really save her?" he asked.

Scott turned to face him. "I don't know," he said. "She might already be dead." The grizzled old hunter hung his head. "Don't hang your head," Scott muttered, his voice low and dangerous. He directed this as well at Declan, who also looked lost in his own world. "Don't give up, don't be depressed, don't cry, don't do anything except get _angry_. Even if it hasn't killed her yet, it's certainly hurt her. What makes more sense right now, moping about that or getting pissed off enough to get even?" Scott caught Declan's gaze. "What are you going to do to the thing that hurt her? Huh? _What are you going to do?_"

Declan's back straightened and his face hardened. _That a boy. _"I'm going to kill him," Declan said, simply.

"Damn right you are," Scott muttered. He looked around at all of them and, seeing assent, even from Chris, he started again toward the door, shrugging out of what was left of his torn up shirt. "Come on. The quicker we move, the better our chances of finding Bridget alive."

Scott led the group at a breakneck pace through the woods. While he wasn't running himself, he could tell that most of his human companions had to jog or run outright to keep up with him. _I am the world's fastest power walker_, he thought. _Can't run outright without losing them, though._ Even though he was moving slower than he'd have liked, they still arrived back at the section of the woods where he'd woken up hours earlier in short order.

Scott stopped, allowing the rest of the group to catch up, and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, exactly, and knowing that his sense of smell was probably the only thing that could point them in the right direction, he wanted to devote every ounce of his attention to it. He lifted his hands slowly and placed them over his ears; while this wasn't nearly enough to block his hearing completely, it dulled it slightly, giving him that much more leeway to focus on his sense of smell. Thus blocked up otherwise, he breathed out and then inhaled through his nose.

Instantly he was deluged with information. The first thing that hit him, perversely, was the smell of sex all over Lydia, Sophie, and Stiles. He pushed that aside – not even remotely helpful. The second thing he smelled in abundance was his own dried blood, weaker and less pervasive than it had been in the lab, but still strong. He pushed that aside too. Aside from those things, there weren't many other strong smells, and most of them were forest smells – pine needles, leaves, birds and animals, and...

Scott's eyes opened. He looked over at Lydia, a vicious smile beginning to form on his lips. "Do you smell that?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I smell about eight hundred different things," she said. "You're going to have to be more specific than that."

"Cake. It smells like cake."

Lydia took another tentative sniff, her brow furrowing. "Yeah," she said, slowly. "Yeah, I smell it too."

Scott was grinning outright. "Bridget," he said. "Good girl! She hit one of them with her pheromones before they left. We can track the smell all the way back to wherever Bealstock is."

"How far?" Gunther asked, a note of hopeful desperation in his voice.

Scott closed his eyes again and focused heavily on the scent, isolating it from everything else and examining the trail it left away from this spot in the woods. "Miles," Scott said. "At least ten. I can cover that ground a whole lot quicker by myself. Lydia can guide the rest of you, but if I can get in and get Bridget out..."

"Go," Declan said, before Scott could finish the thought. "We'll follow. Get going!"

Scott nodded at the fair-haired hunter and shifted the rest of the way to his Alpha form. As soon as he was fully transformed, he disappeared into the darkening trees, sprinting.

The path was surprisingly easy to follow, so much so that Scott wondered a couple of times if it could possibly be a wild goose chase, a diversion that Bealstock and/or Curtis had set up specifically to throw them off. _This is the only lead we have_, Scott thought as he crashed through the undergrowth, following the path of cake-smelling pheromones. _Still better than sitting around doing nothing, even if it is a diversion._

Several minutes later, Scott's senses told him that the scent he was following didn't continue any further and he slowed up, planting his paws in the ground and spraying dirt and leaves in front of himself. Confused, he inclined his head and looked around. Bridget – and for that matter, Bealstock and Curtis – were nowhere in sight. Scott sniffed again, wondering if it was possible that the scent could just stop in the middle of the woods, when he also caught sight of a cave set into the side of a small hill, about thirty yards from where he was standing. He nodded to himself. _Makes sense_, he thought. _Don't underestimate either of them this time._

"_Wolfy_," a voice came from the shadows, a voice that was no longer sickly-sweet but was instead low, harsh, and grating, like a broken glass being ground between bricks. Scott turned from the cave just in time to see Bealstock pouncing for him.

Scott reached up and swiped at Bealstock as the creature hurtled toward him. Scott felt his claws dig in and draw three gashes across Bealstock's shoulder before the arez-grou hit him, tackling him to the forest floor. Instantly, bone-crushing blows started raining down on Scott, who, in some desperation, drew his legs in tight to his body and then pushed outward, sending Bealstock flying back off of him. The creature landed upright, panting.

Scott pushed himself up, expecting the now-familiar searing pain in his side that came with injuries from Bealstock, but instead, when Scott told his body to stand, it stood, gracefully and powerfully. He was so surprised that he almost stumbled and fell. Just to be sure of what was happening, he reached down and felt along the side of his chest, where Bealstock's heaviest punches had connected. No pain. He'd healed completely.

He looked over at Bealstock, who was watching him furiously. "Not so strong anymore," Scott said, his words barely recognizable coming from the mouth of a fully-transformed Alpha.

Bealstock had no response, but kept watching Scott, warily. Scott reared up to his full height and let loose an ear-splitting howl, and then lunged for Bealstock, murder in his eyes.

***[]***

Declan and the rest of the group were following Lydia through the woods, trying to keep up with the impatient werewolf, when they heard Scott's howl. _He's not in pain_, Declan thought, examining the quality of the sound. _More like a call to action – oh, shit!_

At hearing the howl, Lydia had apparently given up on allowing her human companions to keep up. She broke into a dead sprint, and she was a lot faster than any of them. "Damn it, Lydia!" Gunther yelled, hobbling slightly as he tried to break into a run to catch up to the red-headed werewolf.

Declan also broke into a sprint, although he wasn't harboring any illusions about keeping up with Lydia. "Follow the sound!" he yelled over his shoulder, seeing his father, Sophie, Nia, Chris, Kate, Stiles, Allison, and Deaton all breaking into sprints of their own.

All the while, as he ran, Declan repeated to himself, _She's not dead. She's not dead. I'm coming for you, Bridget, just hold on._

Declan began scanning the trees for any sign of where Bridget might be; while he knew that he was still heading in the direction from which Scott's roar had originated, he wasn't sure how far it'd been, or even if Scott had arrived at wherever they would find Bridget before he'd been forced into the fight which had precipitated the roar, but it was all the fair-haired hunter had to go on.

He was saved the trouble of looking, though, when he heard a sharp crack and then a high-pitched whistling sound, as a bullet flew past his head. Years of training took over and Declan flung himself to the ground. He scanned the treeline again and saw his brother, eighty feet away, lining up another pistol shot at Declan's now prone form. Declan rolled to his side and the second gunshot missed as well, the bullet striking the forest floor where Declan had just lain, kicking up a small geyser of dirt. Curtis fired two more times, trying to track Declan, but his aim wasn't steady and both shots went wide. Declan scrambled back to his feet and lurched to his side, pressing his back against a large tree, placing it between himself and Curtis.

When Declan reached for his own pistol, he found that it was no longer tucked into the waistband of his jeans. _Must have come out when I was rolling around on the ground_, he thought. He glanced around toward where he'd been on the ground, but he couldn't see any sign of his lost firearm.

Another pair of bullets cracked by, followed by one which hit the tree Declan was using for cover, making a much louder crashing sound than Declan would have thought possible. Declan ducked involuntarily at the sound, then cursed himself for losing the extra moment and resumed searching the ground for his gun. _Can't fight him without it_, he thought.

His search and Curtis' continued fire were both cut short by a shout. "Cut that out!" Gunther yelled at Curtis, hobbling into view, Sophie and Nia by his side.

Declan could practically hear his brother sneer at his father, but the older boy did stop shooting. "Where's the rest of your little _pack_, Dad?" he asked.

"They're goin' to help Scott deal with Bealstock," Gunther said. Declan could see that his father had his shotgun leveled at Curtis and was now advancing on him slowly, the way he would any other creature they would fight. "You know, the thing we came to this town to kill in the first place."

"We didn't come here to kill Bealstock, Dad," Curtis replied, practically spitting. "We came here to hide your little freak trio from him."

Gunther kept advancing, keeping the shotgun level and steady. "I'm sorry, Curtis," he said, and Declan did a double take. _He's apologizing? Now?_ "I'm sorry I never told you about them," Gunther continued. "I know how hard you took your mother's death. You – you coulda used some more family to help you get through it all. Maybe things would have been better for you - "

"Shut up!" Curtis hissed.

"I've got the bigger gun, son," Gunther pointed out. He was just about to pass out of Declan's field of vision around the tree. Decalan found the notion of not being able to see what came next maddening, but he was afraid that Curtis would take his coming out from behind the tree as an aggressive move and didn't want to accidentally make the shooting start again. "I'm making the rules right now. That's how it's supposed to work. I'm your father."

"You're no father to me," Curtis hissed again, his voice low and dangerous.

"I haven't been much of one, no," Gunther admitted. He was now completely out of Declan's sight. The young hunter breathed heavily. _I can't not see this_, he thought, and slowly pushed himself out of cover around the tree. Luckily, Curtis wasn't paying him any attention; his brother's gaze was riveted on Gunther, as was his pistol. "To both of you, bein' honest, I haven't been much of a father. I get that now. That extra dose of Nia's voodoo last night mighta helped some, I don't know, but I get it now. And I'm sorry."

"You don't say sorry to people you point guns at," Curtis said.

Gunther nodded and lowered his shotgun. "Fair enough," he said. "But the thing that's most important – more than me being sorry – is that it's not too late for you to come back to us, Curtis. You can still do the right - "

Gunther didn't finish the sentence. As soon as his shotgun was pointing firmly at the ground, Curtis lunged forward and backhanded Gunther in the jaw with his pistol, sending a spray of blood from the older hunter's mouth, clearly knocking him out cold. Declan froze; he'd thought his father might have been getting through to Curtis. As Gunther dropped to the forest floor, Curtis looked up, an utterly insane gleam in his eye. "Maybe I'll leave him alive long enough to see how much _better_ I am than him, now," he said, his gaze now focusing back on Declan. He raised the pistol and pointed it at Declan. "And you, _you_ I was planning on leaving alive long enough to see Bridget one last time, so you can see what happens to _things_ like her, but I reckon we can do that with a couple of holes in you. Just to discourage you from fightin' or runnin' away."

Curtis began to pull the trigger and Declan knew that this time he didn't have the momentum or the range to make it out of his brother's way, that this time Curtis had the upper hand and there was nothing he could do to stop him, he was about to be shot and what exactly had Curtis meant about Bridget, had he failed, had he failed to save her?

These thoughts all swirled through Delcan's head as his brother began to shoot, but Curtis never got to finish the shot. Sophie had crept around behind him during the conversation with Gunther and now sprang forward, her wings extended, and grabbed the arm holding the gun. She yanked the gun away from being pointed at Declan and it went off in both their hands, pointed harmlessly at the sky. Curtis batted her away and then backhanded her with the gun, just as he'd done to Gunther, sending her careening into a tree, also unconscious. He pointed the gun down at her and Declan saw that he meant to kill her and he began to charge forward, knowing again that he would be too late, that he was too far away to keep Curtis from killing Sophie.

Nia, as it turned out, was the one closest enough to do something.

The black-haired nymph emerged from the shadows behind Curtis, completely naked – Declan had to check himself to verify that it was, in fact, Nia, whom he'd never seen wearing anything less than long pants, turtlenecks, and gloves – and, her hair flying behind her instead of covering her face while she growled like an animal, she leaped at Curtis, grabbing onto him in every place that she could, pressing her skin to his.

"God damn!" Curtis said, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and Declan saw some of muscles slacken and his eyes glaze over as Nia's power began to take effect on him.

She growled again. "No more!" she screamed, a slight hysterical note in her voice. "No one gets to use me or my powers any more and you don't get to hurt anyone I care about!"

Her words, probably meant to help put the big hunter down, had the opposite effect; Curtis came back to himself just enough to grab Nia's arm and incline his body forward, hurling her off of himself and into a tree, head-first. When she hit the ground it was clear that she was unconscious as well.

Curtis panted, looking down at her, the exertion of contact with so much of her skin clearly having drained him. Then he began to bend down, to pick up the gun he'd dropped when Nia had latched onto him, and Declan realized that this was his only chance to beat his brother, to not die, so he lunged forward, shoulder-tackling his brother and dragging him to the forest floor.

***[]***

Allison, along with Chris, Kate, Stiles, and Deaton, were still running through the woods, although there was no longer a question of whether they were heading in the right direction; they'd picked up a trail of shattered tree trunks and divots in the earth that could only have been made by the titanic wrestling match going on between Scott and Bealstock – _and, by now, Lydia too_, Allison thought. As she ran, she pulled her bow off her shoulder and gave it a couple of last minute checks, just to be sure it wouldn't lock up on her when she needed it most.

Then the damage path in the woods gave way to a clearing and Allison gasped.

Scott and Bealstock were rolling around in the middle of the little meadow they'd found. Lydia was circling around them, looking for a way to get into the fight, and grunting in frustration as she couldn't find one. The Alpha and the arez-grou were both moving far too fast for even Lydia to dive into the fray without having to worry about hurting Scott.

Allison notched an arrow, but when she took aim, she quickly deduced that the fight was moving too fast for her to risk shooting, too. She looked sideways at her father and her aunt – Chris had his pistol out and her aunt had brought the high-powered hunting rifle she favored whenever she didn't need to worry about being seen by civilians – but both of them looked back at her and shook their heads. All three lowered their weapons. _We have to wait for the right chance_, Allison thought. She grimaced and forced herself not to look away as Bealstock landed a left hook to the side of Scott's head and she heard him whimper slightly, a sound which quickly changed back to menacing growl. _Any time now would be good_.

The fight between the Alpha and the arez-grou was a mesmerizing sight, not least of which because half of it couldn't be seen. Somehow Bealstock's all-concealing hood never wavered, never dropped away, never revealed more of his face than his eyes and his teeth. Half the time they were both moving literally too fast for the human eye to track, making them little more than blue and brown and green blurs, streaked with the horrible red of both of their eyes. A couple of times Allison actually couldn't tell which of them was which, and once when a massive swipe landed on one them, she cringed before she realized that it had been Scott who'd landed the blow on Bealstock and not the other way around.

This status quo – a fight between two creatures of impossible strength, moving impossibly fast – actually lasted only two minutes during which Allison and her family were observing, but to Allison it felt like a lifetime. _Between this and the surgery, I think I've aged about ten years in the past four hours_, she thought. _I hope Scott still thinks I'm hot as a cougar_.

When the painful stalemate between Bealstock and Scott broke, none of the assembled humans could have told how or why, because whatever gave Bealstock the upper hand happened far too fast for them to see; but suddenly the whirling, tumbling dance of pain ended and Bealstock was throwing Scott, unconscious, into Lydia, with enough force that the redhead was also knocked unconscious, leaving them both to revert to their human forms, in a pile of tangled limbs (and in Lydia's case, one fewer limb).

Instantly, Allison and her father and her aunt raised their weapons and leveled them at Bealstock, which actually seemed to be panting from the exertion of it's fight with Scott. _Never seen it tired before_, Allison thought. Despite just watching her boyfriend be defeated by the thing, she felt a sliver of hope growing in her brain.

The hopeful moment was slightly undercut when she heard Stiles mutter, "Really gotta remember to bring a weapon of my own next time. Maybe pipe bombs? I could do pipe bombs."

Bealstock turned to face them. Allison glanced to the side, but her father gave her an imperceptible shake of the head. _Not yet_, Allison interpreted. _But what are we waiting for?_ "_What did you do?_" Bealstock asked, it's voice a low rasp, nothing like the sickly-sweet twisted nursery rhyme it'd been every time they'd encountered the creature thus far.

"What?" Chris asked back, his voice strong and steady, staring down the barrel of his pistol.

"_What did you do?_" Bealstock asked again. It looked down at its hands, which, Allison realized, were shaking. "_What did you do to the nymph?_"

Chris smiled, a predatory look. "You don't know?" he asked. "I thought you were the one with all the power?"

"_Hunters_," Bealstock rasped, swiping madly at the air in front of it as though hitting an invisible enemy. _Is it possible for that thing to have actually gotten crazier?_ "_Always poking and prodding and mixing and everything else that's bad and hurts and they don't care about Bealstock, why should they care about Bealstock, Bealstock is just a failed experiment."_

"Uh, what?" Allison asked, again glancing sideways to see if any of her companions had understood the creature's words. _That sounded off,_ Allison thought. _It doesn't use words like that. It's repeating something it heard_.

"What experiment?" Chris asked, worry lines of confusion forming on his face.

"_Said they'd never make another one like me,_" Bealstock said. "_Said it was a mistake to use one so young. They never loved Bealstock. No one ever loved Bealstock._"

_Oh my God_.

"They made you like this when you were a child," Deaton said, the only one of them capable of getting the words out. Allison glanced at her aunt and father and both of them were as stock still as she was, still pointing their weapons at the creature in front of them. "That's it, isn't it? That's what made you different. You were just a child when you were turned into an arez-grou."

"You're saying that thing's a fucking kid?" Allison asked. Absurdly, she caught her father grimacing at her swearing out of the corner of her eye. _So not the time for that_.

"It was," Deaton said, staring at the creature with the same thoughtful expression he usually wore while trying to sort out a problem. _Probably what passes for horror for him. If I ever need to defrost a window I'm asking the doctor to bleed on it._ "I mean, we all were, once, but I don't think Bealstock was ever given the opportunity to grow up. It makes a kind of logical sense that they'd try this – they wanted to make as many arez-grou as possible as fast as possible, and there was no shortage of orphans in those days. That's where you came from, isn't it, Bealstock?"

Bealstock's eyes narrowed dangerously. "_Bealstock tired of talking_," it said. "_Say what you did to the nymph. What you did to me._"

"We beat you," Chris replied, shaking off the momentary pause the new information about Bealstock's origin had given him. "Give up. Maybe we can still find a way to end this without you having to die." _You're kidding, right? _Allison thought, eying her father, but Chris was as solid and unreadable as Deaton.

Evidently, Bealstock also did not trust Chris' statement. "_If it won't tell Bealstock what it did, it has no other reason to keep breathing_," the creature said, and charged. Allison instantly let loose the arrow she'd had trained on the creature, burying it in Bealstock's shoulder, but the creature simply brushed at it, snapping the solid sliver shaft, and kept coming.

***[]***

Curtis and Declan rolled over each other four times before Declan fell off his brother. A little dazed, he nonetheless checked his brothers hands before doing anything else, confirming that he'd tackled Curtis before he'd reached the gun on the ground. _No weapons_, Declan thought grimly. _This is going to be ugly._

Curtis blinked heavily several times. "That bitch got some punch to her," he said, shaking his head, trying to clear some of the disorienting effect that came with touching Nia. "I'm gonna have some real fun with her later. I'm bettin' she won't be as much fun as your Bridget, but still, I'm into new kinds of things. Get it? 'Into' new kinds of things? Damn I'm clever."

Declan pushed himself up to his knees, forgetting to catalog the bruises and cuts that had come from rolling through the forest as he'd been taught, lunging instead for his brother again. "If you've hurt her..."

Curtis, despite still being on his back when Declan's lunge began, came up to a sitting position far faster than he should have been able. Declan had been perpendicular to his brother's prone body and was lunging for Curtis' head, so when Curtis' head wasn't where it had been a half second before, Declan wound up sprawled in the dirt, hitting a tree root face first. He rolled quickly away to make sure that Curtis couldn't slam a fist down into him and end the fight right there, but it took him a moment to recover from the pain and disorientation of the head-first collision, during which time he saw Curtis casually brush himself off and climb, albeit shakily, to his feet.

"That's the thing you ain't gotten 'bout me, little brother," Curtis said. "I don't _hurt_ women, never have. That little girlfriend of yours – well, this may be the last day of her life, but it's also the best day of her life. Maybe I'll let you ask her about it before you both die."

_Keep talking_, Declan silently willed, feeling the rage building back up inside him again. _Every word helps me shut out the pain._ Slower than Curtis had but with less shaky delicacy, Declan pushed himself to his feet. "You're deluded," he said. "If I backtracked all the towns we've been to in the last couple years, how many of the girls you fucked would say you raped 'em?"

Curtis shrugged. "Dunno," he said. "Never can tell what's gonna come outta a bitch's mouth from one moment to the next, can you? One minute she's moaning, 'oh yes, oh yes,' and the next minute she's moaning, 'please stop, please stop,' and it's with the exact same tone of voice. In the end it all means the same thing to 'em."

Declan felt his fists clench. "I'm going to kill you, brother," he said, as calmly as he could. He was surprised at how little his voice wavered as he finally said it out loud.

Curtis smiled. "Bring it on, little man."

Declan feigned another lunge, and true to his prediction Curtis stepped back to catch the lunge and throw him. Since Declan hadn't committed fully to the motion he was left with the upper hand, a stronger position and more solider footwork, whereas Curtis' was lighter and off-balance, anticipating having to redirect an enormous amount of force. Before Curtis could recover, Declan dropped to the forest floor and, ignoring the slight sears of pain as rocks and sticks bit at his legs, swung his right leg in a wide arc which caught Curtis' off-balance feet. Declan met far more resistance than he should have – this same leg sweep, at this angle, could topple a man half again Curtis' size – but enhanced strength or no, Curtis was still not recovered from his experience touching Nia, and his legs gave out under Declan's assault. There was a moment where Curtis' legs and lower torso were thrown forward and he actually bounced up into the air, cartoon-style, a look of surprise on his face, and then he crashed down to the forest floor, again flat on his back.

Declan completed a three hundred sixty degree turn as the momentum from the leg swing carried him. He was still in a low crouch when he completed the turn and he pushed off slightly, drawing his right arm back and preparing to drive it down into Curtis' head. Again, his brother moved faster than he'd anticipated and rolled out of the way, leaving Declan to punch directly down into the dirt, leaving a small indent of his fist in the soil.

Curtis followed this up by punching into Declan's midsection, but the older Kage was at entirely the wrong angle and the blow didn't have any weight behind it. _Don't stop it from hurting, though_, Declan thought, rolling away from his brother and consciously cataloging the injury. _Don't think he broke anything, but if he gets a shot like that in when he's in the right position for it, I'm in trouble_.

"Goin' for the ribs, huh?" Declan asked, coming back up to a crouch. "You're starting to fight like him even." Declan looked over at his brother, who'd also come up into a crouch, expecting to hear a half-witted if self-assured response from his insane brother, but instead Curtis just growled at him and jumped toward him.

Declan tried to get his arm around in arc to intercept his brother, at least cause some damage if not redirect the lunge entirely, but Curtis hit him around the shoulders too quickly and they both tumbled backward. Declan tried to hit his back and roll, to push Curtis off behind him, but he landed at the wrong angle to roll, hitting the ground and skidding rather than sticking in one place, and Curtis' weight on him was in the wrong place for it too. Curtis was on top of him, his legs on either side, and Declan realized he was pinned. His arms were free, but with Curtis' weight centered on his chest, his range of motion with his arms was limited. He saw Curtis grin again once before the punches started raining down on his head.

Declan only felt the first two. The third and the fourth were blurry affairs which shook his vision even though he didn't quite feel pain, and the fifth caused red to leak in his view of the situation. Declan kicked his legs desperately, trying to twist his upper body, to buck his brother off, bull-style, but Curtis' weight was set and there wasn't anything Declan could do to throw him off. _Wonder if he'll lose control and kill me now, or leave me alive_, Declan wondered idly, feeling blood dripping slowly out of his bleeding mouth. _Can't say I like the idea of watching whatever they're going to do to Bridget, but...I'd have liked to see her one more time._

Declan looked up and saw, through the blood and sweat and tears, the mad rage on his brother's face. Declan blinked and closed his eyes, not wanting the last thing he saw to be that image of his brother. His mind instantly tracked back to Bridget, and the look of fear and hope and determination and _love_ that she'd given him the last time they'd kissed, and all he could think was, _I'm sorry, Bridget, I'm so sorry_.

The blow that Declan expected to end his life, however, never landed. Just as Curtis reached back, the fingers of both hands knotted together above his head, prepared to drive them down into – and likely through – Declan's skull, a purple-tinged blur hit Declan at about fifty miles an hour, sending him sprawling off of his dazed brother. Both he and the blur tumbled away, rolling end over end, coming to rest about fifteen feet from Declan, who slowly sat up, coughing out a little blood and trying desperately to get himself to focus. _No concussion, I think_, he thought, rubbing at his head and holding a hand in front of himself, focusing on it. _Worth getting checked out afterward, but damn, either way that hurt._

He climbed quickly to his feet. Curtis was even more dazed than he'd just been, having landed face down in the dirt. When he sat up, the look on his face was one of shock. "I left you tied up," he said, looking down at the purple-colored blur that had landed and solidified into a more defined shape next to him. "I been tying those knots since I was four. How'd you get free?"

Bridget, her face also streaked with dirt and blood and a lot of sweat, rolled over, her purple wings fluttering to accommodate the motion. Her eyes were glazed and she was breathing far more heavily than she should have been, but she still managed to gasp out a few words. "You tied my hands and feet," she managed to get out. "We have wings. You fucking idiot."

Curtis snarled at the insult and raised his hand to backhand her, but again, his blow was interrupted, this time by Declan, who'd begun seeing red again the second he saw Curtis move to strike Bridget. Declan had bounded forward and grabbed Curtis' wrist just as it began it's downward track toward Bridget's face, and he twisted it as violently as he could. Declan heard a snap and then Curtis howled in pain, losing his balance and falling back onto his back. Declan followed him down, driving his fists as hard as he could into his brother's face. Curtis pushed back after the third punch, an action which sent Declan sprawling backward, but he managed to catch his balance and come up standing.

Curtis sprang to his feet and snarled at his brother. "I'm going to twist off your fucking head!" he screamed, and lunged at Declan again, but he made the mistake of leading with his now-broken right hand. When it made contact with Declan's face, both brothers cringed in pain, but Declan was the one who kept his wits about him. Declan side-stepped the lunge, allowing Curtis to land the punch so he wouldn't immediately roll out of reach, and countered by reaching under his brother's chin with one hand and pressing the other against the side of his head, and violently twisting. There was another snap, a much louder one, and Curtis' momentum carried him forward the last few feet. When he hit the dirt he did not move again.

Declan, panting, bent forward, his hands on his thighs, leaning the weight of his torso on his legs. "Think you got that backward," he said. "Brother."

"Is he dead?"

Declan looked up to see his father, standing a dozen yards away, looking down at Curtis with a look of resigned grief in his eyes. Declan stumbled forward the couple of feet necessary and dropped to his knees. He reached for Curtis' throat and felt around. No pulse. "He's gone," he said. He glanced over his shoulder at where Bridget lay, a few feet away. "You go help the others, I'll take care of Bridget."

"But son - "

"No but sons!" Declan said, more harshly than he'd intended. He tried to stand again, but his head swam at all the motion. "I don't think I'd be much good in a fight right now, but if you can help them against Bealstock you should go. I'll make sure Bridget's okay." He saw that his father was about to protest again when he waved violently at the older man. "Just go!"

Gunther gave Declan another hard, searching look, then nodded. "All right," he said. "You're right. Just – just take care of her, okay? I don't wanna lose any more kids today. I'm trustin' you with her."

Declan nodded. "I know."

Declan was shocked, slightly, to see a single tear slide out of Gunther's eye. He looked down at Curtis' dead body. "Don't know if I'd've been able to do it," he said, very purposely not looking at Declan. "I'm proud of you, son."

And with that he turned and was gone.

Declan was phased by this declaration, trying to process it, until a small whimper from behind him brought him back to reality. He got up, a little unsteady on his feet, and walked back to where Bridget was laying. She was crying and shaking. He ran a hand gently over her calf and then quickly undid Curtis' knot, letting her legs free, grimacing as he saw that the ropes had cut into her skin and had blood dried on them. Still wordless, he moved up along her body and pushed gently to get her to roll enough so that he could reach her hands, which were resting on her tailbone. She complied, rolling slightly, and in short order the rope that bound her hands behind her back was gone too.

When she rolled back over again the tears were positively flooding out of her eyes. Declan wanted to reach for her face, to wrap his arms around her and kiss her and feel better himself, but he swallowed the urge with some difficulty. There were other things they needed to attend to first. "Where'd he hurt you?" Declan asked, his voice gruffer than he'd wanted, out of fear of what the answer might be.

"Declan...I..."

"It's okay," Declan said, his voice breaking, forcing himself to look her in the eye. _Don't know that she'd ever forgive me if I looked away right now_, he thought. _Pretty sure I'd never forgive myself, at least._ "It's okay. I won't – you know I don't think anything bad of you for...for whatever happened. I just need to know so we can get you help. Where'd...where'd he hurt you?"

She shook her head, the tears falling off her bloody, dirty face and onto her torn sweatshirt. "He didn't," she said. "He wanted - " She hiccuped, crying heavily - "he wanted me to go into my trance, to do it to him. But I didn't. I didn't do it. I held it off, I'm okay, he didn't do it, _I_ didn't do it, because I kept thinking of you and and everything we're going to have and living together in our own place and I wanted _that_ more and it got me through. I did it. _I kept him from winning_."

Declan was crying too. He let his head fall forward gently, resting his forehead against Bridget's, feeling the power of her own sobs against his skin. "I love you," he said.

"Oh, Goddess, I love you too."

He bent forward to kiss her gently, expecting that she would barely be able to reciprocate in her own weakened state – _the effort it must have taken to actually fly here must have been exhausting_ – but as soon as his lips met hers, her hands snaked around behind him and she pulled him on top of her, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Despite all the pain and exhaustion and blood loss he'd undergone that night already, Declan felt his body respond instantly to Bridget's aggression. He pulled back just enough to look into Bridget's eyes. Her skin was still vibrating slightly and he could tell that she was still powerfully in need of getting the full moon's influence out of her system, but as with the first time, the glazed look in her eyes had disappeared. She purred slightly, but then looked away, slightly embarrassed. "I've been putting this off all night," she said, rolling her eyes away from Declan's without moving her face. "I don't think I can wait much longer."

Declan lowered his face back to hers – still gentle, but with a reciprocal amount of urgency. "You don't have to."

***[]***

Scott came to slowly. The first sensation he had was of his skin touching the skin of someone else. His eyes opened and he tried to push himself to his feet, only to discover that his legs were tangled with Lydia's. Both of them were naked and both of them were in their human forms, her right arm missing again. _It is a damn good thing that we stopped getting embarrassed about things like this_, he thought. _Damn good thing my girlfriend doesn't get jealous easily, too_.

With the thought of Allison, Scott blinked, the situation coming back to him in a rush. _Bealstock knocked me out_, he thought. _Why aren't I dead? Why isn't Lydia dead?_

With a greater sense of urgency he craned his neck around, shaking his legs to disentangle them from the red-headed werewolf. As soon as he was free he climbed to his feet, but stumbled, a familiar searing pain flaring up in his midsection. _Oh no. Not again._ Trying his best to ignore the pain, he scanned the clearing. He needn't have bothered – a gunshot from the far end rang out a half second later and all of his senses focused in on it.

The sight was not a pretty one. Bealstock, with a large number of new holes in it's already ratty outfit, was fighting Chris hand to hand. The bullets – _and fighting me, and Bridget_ – must have slowed it down, because Chris was actually managing to dodge most of it's punches and kicks. Scott watched his girlfriend's father for half a moment, seeing the man anticipating Bealstock's strikes and rolling out of their way. _He's not reacting, he's predicting_, Scott thought. _One wrong move and he's dead._

He looked around. Deaton and Stiles were both unconscious in a heap, similar to how he and Lydia had been a moment before. Sophie was propped against a tree, Nia trying to tend to a deep gash in her shoulder without touching her. He couldn't see Allison or Kate, but could hear both of their heartbeats just beyond the treeline.

And Gunther was hobbling across the clearing as quickly as possible. "Scott!" he shouted, tossing aside an arrow coated in Bealstock's blood.

"Gunther!" Scott responded, and tried to break into a run to meet the old hunter halfway, but the impulsive decision cost him another moment of hot pain in his ribs. Gunther came up level with him and grimaced when he saw the look of pain on Scott's face. "How are we doing?"

"Bad," Gunther said, coming up next to Scott and turning to look back at where Chris and Bealstock were still fighting. "Chris ain't gonna last much longer doing that. Bealstock ripped us all down to shreds, he's the only one even near good enough to fight him, but that ain't gonna last. Kate took a real heavy hit to the head, dunno if she's still alive."

"She is," Scott said. "I can hear her heart beat."

Gunther nodded. "Good news, but not enough good news," he said. He looked back at Scott, with a piercing look. "Can you make it back to Alpha form? Or at least Beta?"

Scott concentrated, closing his eyes, but the second he started feeling the familiar itch in his gums and his face and his fingers, the pain was back, overwhelming him to the point where his vision swam and he had to reach out to the old hunter to keep himself from falling. "No," he choked out, doubling over. "I try that again and I'll be unconscious again in three seconds."

Gunther nodded, as though he'd expected this. "Only one way," he said, a look of grim determination on his face. "Bite me."

"Excuse me?" Scott asked, looking up at the hunter. "Are you serious?"

"Never been more serious in my life," Gunther grunted. He rolled up a sleeve and offered his forearm to Scott. "You bite me now, I'll transform right away. That thing over there's worn down just enough that we almost got it, but we need another heavy hitter in the game. That's gonna have to be me."

Scott shook his head, a mistake given his already murky consciousness. "No way," he said, his words slurring slightly as his head spun. "I swore I'd never do this to anyone."

"Not the time for an ethics lesson, kid," Gunther said, nodding fervently toward Bealstock. Scott refocused his attention just in time to see a punch land squarely in Chris' midsection. The hunter stumbled backward, gasping for breath, and Scott could practically _feel_ Bealstock smile.

"We can wake Lydia," Scott said wildly, trying to ignore the arm that Gunther had stretched out in front of him.

He started turning around, to head back toward the unconscious redhead, but Gunther grabbed him by the shoulders and kept him planted squarely where he was. "Can't afford the extra few seconds if it turns out you passed on Bealstock's magical messer-upper shit when you hit her," Gunther said. "It's gotta be me and you gotta do it. Time to be an Alpha, kid. For real."

Scott looked down at Gunther's arm, then around at Bealstock, who was advancing slowly on Chris, was was trying to push himself away along the forest floor even as he wheezed, still trying to recapture the breath that had been knocked out of him. Scott's gaze swung back around to Gunther's resolute eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Did I fucking stutter?" Gunther asked. He shoved his bare arm in Scott's face. "Do it, Scott."

Still hesitant, Scott nonetheless opened his mouth. When he bit down on Gunther's arm, it was only with the force – and teeth – of a human, and he could tell that the skin hadn't broken. _This would be really awkward if it wasn't a life and death situation_, Scott thought. _I'm standing in a clearing, naked, biting a grown man's arm. What the hell am I supposed to do with my tongue?_

A second later, though, he felt his teeth sharpen – accompanied by an overwhelming amount of pain in his midsection. Nonetheless, his teeth bit into Gunther's skin and sank deep, and he felt a slight light-headedness take hold of him as his fangs actually injected something into Gunther's blood. _Whoa_, Scott thought, straightening up again and pulling back from Gunther's arm. _That was a head trip._

In part from the pain and in part from the rush of blood to his head that had accompanied delivering the bite, Scott stumbled and fell. He looked up in time to see the look of pained concentration on Gunther's face change into one of anger, and then into one of rage. His eyes slowly began to glow gold and he opened his mouth, displaying newly sharpened fangs, and let out an earsplitting roar.

Bealstock stopped stalking Chris and looked up. The small smile that had begun when it'd finally gotten the upper hand on Chris spread into the too-wide grin it'd used the first time Scott had seen it. The creature abandoned pursuing Chris, just as the hunter collapsed, unconscious, on the forest floor. In a flash, Bealstock was standing in front of them, cocking its head at Gunther, who was grunting and fuming, stretching his fingers which were now topped with razor sharp claws. "_Did wolfy make Bealstock a snack?_" the creature asked, it's voice still raspy but returned somewhat to its former timbre.

Scott grimaced wryly. "I think it's safe to assume he's killed before," he said.

Bealstock shook it's head, seemingly in utter delight. "_Not since becoming a wolfy himself_," the creature said. "_That's what counts for Bealstock._" Scott had just enough time to look up in horror at Gunther and see that these words had had absolutely no effect on the older hunter before he and Bealstock met in flurry of flying limbs.

Unlike his human friends, Scott had the visual acuity to track every part of the fight, and he watched it all, still on the ground, still lightheaded, still in pain from the wounds he'd received from Bealstock. He saw when Gunther got an early hit, raking his claws across Bealstock's chest, shredding a little more of the hooded shirt the creature wore. He saw when Bealstock backhanded Gunther, seemingly sending the hunter sprawling, only for Gunther to use the force of the blow to turn in a full circle and swipe Bealstock up one entire arm. He saw Gunther grab Bealstock and dig into the creature with his claws and push him to the ground, watched as they rolled around, exchanging short, low powered hits, trying to find an opening to deliver a killing shot.

Just as the tempo of the fight hit a climax, where the arez-grou and the werewolf were moving almost as fast as Scott and Bealstock had minutes before, Bealstock froze completely. This had the effect of allowing Gunther's latest strike to slash deep into the muscle of his thigh – _if he has thighs, technically –_ but then Gunther, still being carried by momentum, stumbled to the side, and Bealstock drove an elbow down into the center of his back. Scott heard a colossal shattering sound and actually saw all the muscles below Gunther's waist lose tension at once.

_Oh. Shit._

Gunther stumbled forward, no longer able to use his legs at all. Bealstock smiled again and delivered a massive kick into the hunter's ribs. Scott heard bone breaking again and watched as Gunther was actually hurled into the air from the force of the blow, landing on his back about ten feet from where he'd lain and groaning, the golden light still shining from his eyes long past when he should have shifted back to his regular human form.

Bealstock seemed to saunter over, watching as Gunther struggled to move, his entire upper body shuddering from what must have been an unbelievable amount of pain. The creature stepped up onto Gunther's prone right leg and drove down, hard. Again the night air was filled with the sound of breaking bones, but this time Gunther didn't react at all. _He couldn't feel it_, Scott thought. _His back is broken_.

Bealstock glanced over it's shoulder at Scott. "_Thanks for the snack, wolfy_," it said, displaying it's row of sharp, needle-like teeth. "_It'll make a good appetizer before I work into the rest_." And before Scott could call out or try to jump to his feet or even blink, Bealstock had plunged it's horrible head down and into Gunther's exposed throat, it's teeth biting deep.

A second later, Bealstock pulled back, standing fully upright again, it's teeth slashing their way out of Gunther's throat, causing a torrent of the horrifically wounded hunter/werewolf's blood to spray into the air. At first, Scott thought that the creature was toying with them, that this theatrical action was just a way to emphasize it's superiority one more time – but then Scott realized that Bealstock was shaking again and wasn't reaching down to tear another bite out of Gunther's ravaged body, but was instead staring at his body. Slowly, shaking, it brought it's hands up and looked them over.

Bealstock turned to look at Scott, it's red eyes wide. "_Again_," it said, it's voice even raspier and hoarser than it had been earlier. "_They did it to Bealstock again. First the nymph and now the new wolfy. What have you done? What have you done to me?_"

Scott glanced toward the ground, where Gunther had discarded an arrow on his way over. _Bealstock's blood_, Scott thought, seeing that it was still coated in a thick, red substance. _He must have drank it off the arrow. The fucking martyr. He planned this._ Scott's gaze returned to Bealstock. The creature's eyes were, for once, round. _It's afraid_. "We've beaten you," Scott said. He tried to stand but the pain and the weakness were too much and he slumped back down. "One of us is going to take you down today. It might not be me, but one of us will. You're dead."

Bealstock, strangely, didn't seem to like Scott's proclamation. "_You first_," it hissed. It took a step forward, flexing it's shaking hands, it's teeth bared, and Scott knew that in a fight Bealstock might be weakened but he was worse off, there was no way he could defend himself like this.

Just as Bealstock was about to reach down for him, though, a single silver arrow flew out of the trees behind him and embedded itself in Bealstock's head, right between the creature's eyes. Scott turned and saw Allison drawing another arrow, walking toward them with her bow held in front of her. Bealstock stood absolutely still for a moment, then wavered slightly, and finally pitched forward, it's head turning sideways as the portion of the arrow not inside it's head hit the ground. As it settled in, it's hood fell away, revealing that there was no skin at all on it's head – it was a skull with eyes and a mouth, the skin of it's neck melting away into the bone of it's spine. The arrow had cracked the skull in a neat circle all the way around.

As Scott and Allison watched, the red light in its eyes dimmed and went out.

***[]***

About twenty minutes later, Declan and Bridget – having exercised as much restraint as was possible in getting her over the full moon's affect – were hastily reapplying their clothes and following the same path that had lead Allison and the others to the clearing. When they broke through the treeline into the clearing, they saw the remainder of the group clustered around two bodies lying on the ground, unmoving, near the middle.

Declan felt a moment of savage triumph when he saw that one of the bodies was clearly that of Bealstock, but he heard Bridget gasp and, following her gaze, realized that the other body belonged to Gunther. All the others were standing over him, with the exception of Deaton, who was kneeling next to him. The doctor ran his hand over Gunther's face, closing the old hunter's eyes, and straightened up.

Declan heard a stifled sob and looked down and to his left, saw that Bridget had a hand pressed to her mouth, tears leaking again from her eyes. Instinctively, Declan reached for her and folded her into a hug.

Feeling like he'd been carved out of wood that didn't fit right into his joints, Declan looked between Chris and Scott. "Everyone else okay?" he asked. Even to him, his voice sounded hollow.

"Yeah," Scott said. "Roughed us all up, but the rest of us are still – still okay. Curtis?"

Declan nodded. "Taken care of," he said. "Permanently."

Sophie and Nia were crying too. At some point Nia had regained her clothes, Declan noted, and Sophie was doing her best to hold and comfort her sister without making direct skin-to-skin contact. _Might not be a bad idea to just give her a big hug_, Declan thought, his gaze returning to his deceased father. _We could all use a drink right now. Or, you know, the effects of one, anyway._

Allison looked between the three nymphs and Declan, her own eyes filling up with tears. Scott, Declan could tell, was leaning lightly on her shoulder, again nursing a sore ribcage. "I'm so sorry, Declan," Allison said.

Declan waved her off. "Don't," he said. "I, uh, don't think I've really processed yet, you know?" Allison, and slowly all the others, nodded. Declan sighed. "Just – just tell me it's over. It's over, right?"

Scott looked down again at the dead creature that'd caused them so much grief. "It's over," he said.

***[]***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Holy cow that was stressful! I'd actually been expecting to be at this point in November. So much for planning. Anyway, in case you were wondering, despite what Scott just said, this is _not_ the end of Sell the Life of the World. I've still got a few places to go with this story, so don't count it out just yet.

As always, let me know what you thought in the review section.


	28. Funeral for a Friend

FUNERAL FOR A FRIEND

Scott's first thought, on awakening two days later, was that the bed he was in felt awfully empty. They'd never bothered to replace his old bed and he and Allison had gotten used to sleeping closely huddled together. Waking up without her right there, curled into him, always shook him a bit. The sight of her, naked, standing in front of the window and staring at the dim light hitting her arm, eased some of that tension.

The look on her face was pensive. "Something wrong?" Scott asked.

"I keep expecting it to change," she said, her eyes focused in particular on her outstretched fingers. "You know, even though I know I won't. I guess I got used to the idea of being a werewolf really quickly and figuring out this new – _whatever_ I am is taking longer to sink in."

Scott rose and silently padded over to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head. He followed her intent gaze down to her hand. It was the same hand he'd seen a million times before – there was nothing there to signify the transformation that Allison had undergone, which they still didn't fully understand. "Have you gotten the chance to talk to Kate some more about it?"

"Little bit," Allison said, her gaze drifting to the window. She reached up and closed her hand over Scott's. "It's so weird trying to talk to her about it. Half the time she's really closed off, like she doesn't want to say anything, and the other half the time it's like she's desperate to get it out. Dad's got her a flight out to see the shrink – apparently they're going to a retreat thing in Minnesota."

"Good," Scott said. "She could probably use it."

Allison nodded, the motion bucking Scott's head off hers. "Definitely," she agreed. "But it still leaves us without a lot of answers."

"How much - " Scott started, then stopped. _Do I want to?_ he thought. _Oh well. Already started. She'd ask if I didn't continue. _"How much of, you know, how Kate is, do you think is because of the mate bond?"

Allison shook her head. "No idea," she said. "I doubt anyone could tell. I figure we're all made of bits and pieces of the things that have happened to us, and a _lot_ happened to Aunt Kate – being more or less pimped out by her father, falling in love with and then betraying Derek while she was forming this super intense bond with him, then running around for ten years killing anything with fur before killing Derek himself. And it's not like she hadn't been a person before all that too – for all we know she was already like this before it all happened. Much as I doubt that."

"I just worry..."

"What, that I'm going to turn into a horny psychopath?" Allison asked, laughing. When Scott didn't laugh back, she pulled out of his grasp and turned to face him. "Wait, are you seriously worried that I'm going to turn out like Kate?"

"We don't know what this whole mating thing does to you," Scott pointed out, trying to speak fast enough to avoid the cresting wave of rage he saw in his girlfriend's eyes. "It could drive you insane for all we know. A pretty big portion of being a werewolf is about going crazy, what makes you think being a werewolf's mate is any different?"

Allison rolled her eyes. "Scott, I'm _fine_," she said. She reached up to his face and stroked it gently, the expression in her eyes softening. "And I bet I know where this is coming from."

Scott let his eyes close, enjoying the feeling of her fingers on his skin. "Yeah? Where?"

"Guilt," she said, continuing to stroke his face gently. "It was bad when you felt like you'd done something to me, but after turning Gunther – and him getting killed – I figure it probably made the whole thing feel worse. Didn't it?"

Scott stiffened. "That's - " he started to say, but then stopped. "I mean, it's - "

"It's okay," Allison said. Her other hand reached up to his face so that she was cupping his cheeks with her palms. "It's natural for you to feel guilty. After all, it's your fault."

It took a second for the last words to sink in; when they did, Scott, whose gaze had wandered away from Allison's face when she'd started talking about guilt, ratcheted his eyes back to hers. Her eyes had begun glowing red, like his. Or like Bealstock's. "What the - "

Allison raised her right arm, fully transformed into that of an Alpha. "It's all your fault," she said, her voice a low growl, and reached for his throat.

Before her claws could tear him apart, Scott woke up.

He was sweating profusely and breathing heavily, and Allison was laying on her side next to him, one hand pressed against his shoulder, clearly having been shaking him to try and wake up him up. "You were yelling," she said, simply.

Scott sighed, went to cover the hand that was still pressed against his shoulder with his own, and realized that his claws had extended. "It's okay," he said, aware that his voice shook slightly. "I'm fine."

"Nightmare?" Allison asked. He felt one of the fingers on the hand on his shoulder trace a few little circles on his skin.

"Yeah," Scott said. He glanced at the clock. "What time did we say we have to be at the funeral?"

**\/[]\/**

Allison had never been to a hunter's funeral. The men they lost several nights' previous were all getting shipped to their various homes for burial, and it wasn't as though they'd given Lee and Roth a burial. Allison shivered slightly as Scott pulled his finally-repaired vehicle to a stop at the graveyard, pushing thoughts of the dead would-be rapists out of her mind.

Scott, Allison, Sophie, Nia, and Bridget all stepped out of the vehicle, which, Allison noticed, was parked right next to the classic sports car that she supposed Declan had taken possession of since his brother's death. Declan had mentioned the night before that he would be coming down early to finalize the arrangements and had asked if Scott could bring everyone else from the house; Scott had agreed.

"I think we're late," Scott muttered, nodding into the graveyard as he stepped gingerly out of the car. Allison spared a momentary glance toward her boyfriend as he grimaced in pain – they hadn't made love since the fight with Bealstock and Scott was still nursing several moderately severe injuries. Allison had tried to convince him the night before, but Scott had insisted that he felt it would be more respectful to Gunther to go this way, a line of logic that was so insane and so _Scott_ that Allison hadn't even bothered protesting.

She'd started thinking, after being turned down the night before, of ways to entice him – _seduce him, be honest with yourself_ – in case he found some other guilt-ridden way of turning her down again, but Allison figured that, even in her own mind, going over seduction techniques at a funeral was not only disrespectful, it was morbidly creepy. She glanced the way Scott had nodded and saw a small group of people, all wearing black. Allison pulled out her cell phone and checked the time. "Nah, we're still five minutes early. Guess everyone else was just, you know, earlier."

Scott looked over his shoulder at the three nymphs. All five of them were also wearing black; Nia's was an extremely simple black dress which hung down to several inches below her knees, with no ornament or extra trim; Sophie's was similar, although the smallest of the three sisters had added a black, wide-brimmed hat; and Bridget had gone for a slightly different style, with a built-in black belt and arms made of a lacy flower design through which her skin could be seen. Allison looked back at Scott, seeing the simple black suit he wore, and hoped that her own simple black dress was appropriate enough for the situation. With a pang she remembered that the last time she'd worn this dress was at Scott's mother's funeral. "Are you all okay?" he asked, still looking at Sophie, Nia, and Bridget.

Bridget glanced at her sisters, too. "Yes," she said. "I mean, we are okay. So far."

Scott nodded. "If it's too much, at any point..." he said, trailing off. "Look, it's just, I've been here before. If you need to step away, no one will ever think less of you. Or if they try to, I'll turn into a giant wolf and scare them into being nice."

Scott's lame joke had the desired effect. All three nymphs grinned slightly. Allison saw tears brimming at the edge of Sophie's eyes. "Thanks, Scott," the mousy nymph said.

"You're welcome. You ready to head over?"

The five of them began their trek across the graveyard, to the freshly-dug plot with people standing next to it. As they came up closer, Allison was surprised to see two plots, side by side, and then felt her blood freeze. _Curtis_, she thought, glancing quickly at Bridget, seeing that the brunette hadn't yet noticed – or wasn't giving away that she'd noticed – that Declan's deranged brother was getting a proper burial as well. Allison's gaze swung back to the crowd and she tried to pick Declan out of it, but she found that the fair-haired young man was not among the people standing around.

Her mother, father, and Aunt were. They looked up as the small group from the McCall house approached and Allison drifted over to them. There were two other people with them as she came over; as she got closer, she recognized the pair of FBI agents, Sanders and Murray. Allison greeted her family, receiving an unexpected hug from her father, and then also greeted the pair of FBI agents, using their formal titles.

They glanced at each other. "I think, given the circumstances, you can use our first names," Sanders said, smiling slightly at Allison. _She is really pretty when she smiles_, Allison thought. "I'm Julia."

"And I'm William," Murray said, sticking out a hand for a handshake.

Allison obliged him on this, but her brow knitted as she did so. "Wait a minute – William? As in Bill? Your name is Bill Murray?"

He shrugged. "Some people are cursed," he said. His eyes found Scott, who'd come to stand next to Lydia, who was in the process of giving him an awkward one-armed hug. "Although, uh, some people are a bit more so than others, I guess."

"We were just discussing your cover story with your family," Julia cut in, casting a merciful glance at her partner. "We're going to help smooth things over with the sheriff. The official story is that Gunther went out to hunt the animal that attacked Lydia and it got him instead, and when Curtis followed to try and help it got him, too."

"What about Bealstock?" Allison asked.

Murray shook his head. "Not gonna say anything about him," he said. "Or, you know, about the beast everyone thinks was doing this. For one thing, we can't offer up his body as proof that the animal is gone, and we don't want to go out and kill some random innocent bear just to use as evidence. For another thing, we kind of figure that the people of this town could do with wondering in the woods a little less, so if they think a possibly murderous animal is still out there, maybe they'll think twice."

"No offense intended," Sanders cut in quickly. "We're pretty clear on who the good guys and the bad guys are – or, uh, were – around here, but it'd still give you all some breathing room."

Allison nodded. "We appreciate it," she said. "Your investigation is over now, right? Are you going to be leaving soon?"

The agents glanced at each other again. "Later today, actually," Sanders admitted. "We only stayed this long for the funeral. I don't mean to sound crass, but there are other cases where we can actually do some good. I think we were only ever in the way here."

Allison shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "Having friends in the FBI might turn out to be a big benefit someday."

"I don't like the way you said that at all," Sanders said, shaking her head. "But I see your point. We'll make sure that the government doesn't wind up breathing down your necks."

"Hey, Julia, didn't you want to say hello to the doctor?" Murray asked, nudging his partner's shoulder and pointing toward Dr. Deaton, who'd just gotten out of a conversation with someone Allison didn't recognize.

"Yeah," Sanders said. She smiled around at all of them, a little weakly. "We also wanted to let you know how sorry we are for your loss."

"Thank you," Victoria responded, and the pair of FBI agents walked away to greet the doctor.

Chris was looking after them with his usual mixture of worry and cold analysis. "One crisis averted," he muttered.

"Just one?" Allison asked, her gaze trailing over to the two large holes in the ground.

Chris grinned in a pained sort of way. "One at a time," he said. He nodded toward three men standing apart from everyone else. "See them? They're hunters. Showed up this morning."

"For the funeral?" Allison asked, eying them. The three men were all a little older than her father, from their appearances. None of them wore the more formal attire everyone else was in; they were all in jeans and t-shirts.

Chris shook his head. "I checked in with Declan as soon as I saw them. He said he didn't call anyone. Didn't know anyone to call." Chris rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "And, given how they're dressed, I'm going to assume they didn't even bring suits. No, they're not here to mourn. More likely they're here to cause mourning."

Allison looked around sharply, feeling the blood drain out of her face. "Not again," she said. "Not already. There's no way we can handle more of this so soon after - "

"Honey," Chris interrupted, putting a hand on Allison's shoulder. "I know. I wish there was something I could do to make this all better for you, but this is what this life is – if you get five minutes to breathe, you take it and don't wish it were ten."

"Most down time I've had in the last ten years was thirty-six hours, in Vegas," interjected Kate. Her aunt's voice, while having regained some of its lilt, was lacking in the bravado and arrogance that used to make it grate on everyone's nerves. _She almost sounds like a human being_, Allison thought. Then she chided herself. _Well, she "almost" is a human being. Like me._

Chris gave her an odd look. "Vegas? I don't remember you telling me about that."

Kate gave her brother a pained smile. It sounded as though she had to force the next words out. "Some things a girl won't tell her big brother about, Chris."

Chris nodded, his face coloring slightly. "Right."

Allison felt like smiling and crying at the same time. That same conversation a month ago would have featured Kate's cocksure grin and dare-you-to-judge-me tone, and her father's barely-patient passive response, and both would have annoyed the youngest Argent to no end. After everything that had happened, Allison could see that Kate and Chris were connecting instead of just making each other angry, but it clearly was hurting them both. Allison felt a tear welling up in her eyes and she let it spill over, just one, for her broken family. _Broken but not destroyed, _she thought, and forced down the inevitable conclusion her mind wanted to tack on: _yet._

**\/[]\/**

Bridget felt numb throughout the whole ceremony. Not long after she, her sisters, Scott, and Allison had arrived, Declan had shown up with a group of men carrying a pair of caskets. While a man she didn't recognize recited a few generic lines about how Gunther and Curtis were both treasured family members and would be missed, Bridget had scanned the gravestones. While Gunther's had a number of things on it - "Beloved Father, Devoted Hunter" - Curtis' just had his name and the dates of his birth and death. _I wonder if he just couldn't bring himself to lie about who Curtis was_, Bridget wondered, her eyes finding Declan, who was beside the man speaking, much too far away for Bridget's liking. _I do not think I will ever ask_.

And then the ceremony was over and Bridget felt Nia's hand in her right hand and Sophie's in her left squeezing and a few of the people slowly walked away, but after a moment Bridget saw a couple of too-casually-dressed men approach Declan. Bridget felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up at the sight of them. _There's something wrong here_.

Letting go of her sisters' hands, she walked over, coming into earshot in enough time to hear one of the men greet the young man. "'Lo, Declan," the man, who had extremely close-cropped red hair, was saying. "We were so sorry to hear 'bout your loss."

Bridget was about to skirt around them to stand by Declan when his gaze caught hers and she saw him shake his head, barely perceptible, and between that and the look in his eyes she understood that he wanted her to stay back, for some reason. Bridget glanced around and saw that Scott, Lydia, and Stiles were approaching from behind Declan and the Argents were approaching from behind her. _Oh, no_, Bridget, thought, feeling herself grow cold.

"Thanks, Jerry," Declan said. Bridget could feel a sense of tension between her boyfriend and the man. "How'd you hear so quick? I didn't tell no one what happened."

Jerry shook his head. "We were around," he said, vaguely. "Heard there were some issues in this town, issues of the kind we take care of. Figured we'd offer to lend a hand."

"Orzinsky. You never 'lend a hand,' you just make things worse."

Jerry – whose last name, Bridget reflected, must have been Orzinsky – turned around to address the person who'd spoken. Bridget found that the Argents had actually surrounded her, which both made her feel safer – from being surrounded by no-doubt-armed hunters who were willing to protect her – and more worried – as they seemed to think it was necessary to protect her here. _At father's funeral, for the sake of the goddess_...

Jerry Orzinsky's lip curled. "Argent," he said, nodding. "Heard you were in town, too."

"And you came anyway?" Chris asked.

"Sure, sure," Jerry replied. "Why not? We got a little bad blood between us, what's that to old friends?"

"You and my dad had some bad blood, too, if my memory's working," Declan said, his hands on his hips. "Fact, my dad threatened to shoot you in the balls if he ever saw you again. Isn't that right?"

Jerry turned again so that he could turn his head to talk with both Declan and Chris. "That was over ten years ago," he responded. "Water under the bridge. We'd have patched things up eventually. 'sides, it's hardly a concern now, is it?"

"I don't find that funny," Declan said, his face stony as the tombs they were standing next to. "And I do find you concerning, if you want to know the truth."

Jerry waved again. "Forget all that," he said. "We're here to help you with your little problem and then we'll be gone."

Chris nodded to the pair of graves. "In case you hadn't heard, the 'little problem' in Beacon Hills is already taken care of," he said. "So you can move on."

"Nah," Jerry said, placing his own hands on his belt. Bridget's eyes found a bulge in the pocket, which she saw was much larger than it should have been anyway. _Gun_, she thought. "Word is you got werewolves here too. Figured we could clean them out too while we're at it, leave this lovely town all cleaned up."

"Is that what you figured?"

Jerry turned again at the forceful, angry tone. Scott, Lydia, and Stiles had drawn level with Declan and were standing shoulder to shoulder with him. At the same time, Bridget felt the arrival of her sisters, who stood behind her but close enough that she could hear their breathing. Bridget glanced around – Jerry had two friends with him. The three of them were faced with Scott, Lydia, Stiles, Declan, herself, Nia, Sophie, Allison, Chris, Kate, and Victoria. _Outnumbered is putting it mildly_, Bridget thought.

Jerry seemed to be coming to a similar conclusion. "Just who the hell are you?" he asked.

"Someone with better manners than you," Scott responded. "You've got no reason to be in this town. We didn't ask you to come."

"You wanted to pay your respects to my dad? Fine, you done that," Declan said, nodding at Scott. "You should know he didn't respect you for squat. Now get out."

Jerry laughed, a short, unpleasant sound which failed to echo in the open graveyard. He surveyed the array of angry faces which were just about surrounding him. "I'm detectin' some hostility here," he said. "What's wrong with y'all? Killin' werewolves is what we do, ain't it?"

Lydia snorted. Before anyone could say anything which would start a shootout, Chris jumped in. "We've formed an alliance of sorts," he said, catching Jerry's gaze. "The werewolves in this town have never harmed a human being. They actually assisted us in the fight against the creature that killed Gunther Kage. They're not to be exterminated."

Jerry also snorted, giving Lydia a long, odd look. "By you bunch, maybe," he said. "I got no compunctions 'bout it. So just stand back and let my boys do their thing and then we'll be out of your hair. And the wolves will be too, for that matter. Win-win."

"Except for the part where you lose," Scott said. "Nobody's killing anybody here. Like Declan said, you're leaving."

Jerry's odd look transferred from Lydia to Scott. "Who exactly do you think you are, giving me orders like that?" he asked. His eyes narrowed. "Or what do you think you are?"

Jerry reached for the gun in his pocket and Bridget, along with the entire group, tensed; but Declan defused the tension by doing the last thing anyone expected. He hopped down into his father's still-open grave. Even Jerry stopped what he was doing to stare at the fair-haired young man in disbelief as he climbed back out his father's grave – carrying Gunther's shotgun. "What on Earth...?"

"This was my dad's," Declan said, clicking a mechanism on the shotgun. The barrel swung down, revealing two little round holes which Bridget assumed were where the cartridges were supposed to go. Satisfied that he'd left the gun loaded, Declan clicked it back into place and pulled down the hammer. "I was plannin' on buryin' it with him, but now I got other ideas. Wanna hear 'em?" Jerry nodded, transfixed by Declan's angry, edge-of-hysteria tone of voice. "First, I figure I'll shoot you. Then I figure I'll shoot the rest of your boys, if they decide your sorry ass is worth theirs. Then I'll dump your bodies in my brother's grave and you can rot with him 'till Judgment Day. One way or the other, you aren't killing my friends."

"Your friends?" Jerry said, nodding at Scott and Lydia. "You brought werewolves to _Gunther Kage's_ funeral? You got any idea who your daddy was, kid?"

"I think you're the one who didn't know Gunther," Chris put in, having drawn his own pistol. Bridget followed it – it was pointed right at Jerry's head. "Regardless, what Declan said goes for all of us. You're not hurting anyone here, and if you try, we'll hurt you instead."

Bridget looked around, seeing looks of mingled fear and hope and even a little awe on Allison and Scott's faces as they looked at Chris. Jerry, in the meantime, was looking back and forth between Declan's shotgun and Chris' pistol. "Okay," he said. "You've all clearly gone nuts, but if you want to leave this town to be ripped apart and turned one month after the next, I suppose you can be my guest."

"Another thing," Chris said, as Jerry started to walk away. The redheaded hunter looked at him. "Spread the word. Beacon Hills is off limits to anyone who doesn't clear it before coming in. We're trying something new here and I don't want some idiot like you ruining it. Understand?"

"Ruining it?" Jerry asked, incredulity creeping back into his voice. "Ruin it how? By killing fucking werewolves?"

Chris' gaze traveled over to Scott. "By killing good people who happen to be werewolves," he said. "There's a difference."

Jerry threw his hands up in the air. "I give up," he said. "You've gone off the deep end, Chris." He gestured to the other two men. "Come on, guys. Let's get out of this town in case the crazy's in the drinking water or something."

Neither Declan nor Chris put down their guns until the three men had climbed into an old, beaten-up SUV and pulled away from the graveyard. Chris was the first to lower his gun; Declan kept the shotgun raised, his hands shaking slightly. Bridget saw Allison hug her father out of the corner of her eye. Chris returned his daughter's hug and turned to Declan, who, seemingly reluctantly, lowered his gun. "I think we'll follow them to make sure they do leave," he said. Kate and Victoria processed these words and started heading towards the SUV they'd brought to the funeral. Before he turned to go as well, Chris stepped forward and laid a hand on Declan's shoulder. "I really am sorry for your loss, Declan," he said. "If you need anything..."

Declan was nodding. "I think you done more than I could reasonably ask for there," he said. "Thanks. You're real friends."

Chris' gaze was once again on Scott, a surprised look on both of their faces. "Yeah," Chris muttered. "No kidding, huh?" He squeezed Declan's shoulder one more time then turned to jog across the field to catch up to his wife and sister.

After a second, Declan glanced around at the remaining teenagers surrounding him. "Thanks for coming, everyone," he said, looking each of them in the eye in turn, Bridget last. His gaze lingered there and she practically cried out at the pain she saw there. "I've gotta get these graves covered – paid as much as I had on hand to get 'em to dig the things, I had to promise to cover 'em over once we were done."

"I'll help," Scott said, quietly.

"Me, too," Allison said, bending over and picking up one of the shovels the undertakers had left.

Declan looked around again, confusion and even more hurt filling his eyes as everyone assembled started nodding and looking around for more shovels. "You don't have to do that," Declan said.

Scott stepped up and patted him on the back. "I don't think it's about "have to" at this point, Declan," he said.

Allison picked up another shovel and handed it to the fair-haired hunter. "You're family now."

Declan accepted the shovel, looking at it like he'd never seen one before. A moment later his eyes bulged and he collapsed forward onto his knees, tears beginning to run out of his eyes. Bridget stepped forward as everyone else took a step back. She cast a glance at Scott and the Alpha nodded. "We'll give you some time," he said. To the group, he said, "Come on, everyone. We'll come back in a few minutes."

They all milled away, leaving Bridget standing over Declan, who was openly weeping, still leaning against the shovel for support. Slowly, she knelt beside him, wrapping her lace-covered arms around him. He dropped the shovel and leaned sideways so that the top of his head was pressed against her forehead.

She held him like that for what felt like years before Declan spoke. "I can't lose you," he muttered.

"What?" Bridget asked, drawing back enough so that she could see her boyfriend's face.

It was streaked with tears and a little dirt that had shaken loose from the shovel. "I think I learned a few things 'bout myself the past week," he said. "I never thought much 'bout what I got or what I can go on without, 'cause I always figured I'd never have anything I couldn't leave behind, Dad and Curtis included. And losing them isn't really the hard thing. I mean, it's not a picnic, don't get me wrong, but all it's doing is teaching me what I couldn't lose. I can't lose you, Bridget. I love you."

Bridget fastened herself back onto him, hugging him so tightly that she felt her arms might break. "I love you too," she said. "You are never going to lose me. I promise."

"You can't make that promise," Declan muttered.

"Yes, I can," she responded, again pulling back to stare at him. She felt her own eyes burning. "I am in charge of my life, Declan. I can promise that I will always fight for us. And," she said, blushing and smiling, "I think I am pretty badass. So I think I shall always win."

Declan finally smiled. "Spoken like a true nymph."

Bridget shook her head. "I do not think so," she said. "A true nymph would be mounting you right now." She leaned in close. "I'd prefer to save that for later. When we can be more...intimate."

Declan smiled again, looking into her eyes, and Bridget felt chills running all up and down her body. _I really am in love_. Just as she was thinking it, Declan opened his mouth and spoke. "I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," Bridget responded, and kissed him, slowly but firmly, until a moment later they both stood and Declan waved across the graveyard to Scott, and the whole group set to work covering over the graves. Together.

**\/[]\/**

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry about the time this has taken. As my most recent reviewer mentioned, I _am_ extremely busy at the moment, and I've fallen way behind on this as a result. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up, but don't expect me to be back to my old update frequency any time too soon. And at the same time don't think I've abandoned this project – I've still got a lot of ideas on where it's going and I want to see it through to its actual end.

As always, drop a review and let me know what you thought.


	29. A Very Teen Wolf Christmas

AUTHOR'S NOTE: In case the title isn't any indication, the story's jumping forward in time by a bit. I'd meant to be writing and publishing this chapter in time for Christmas – yeah, that obviously didn't even come close to happening. Anyway, story.

A VERY TEEN WOLF CHRISTMAS

When Stiles and Lydia arrived at the McCall house the Saturday before Christmas, they found Nia and Sophie in the kitchen, both nursing cups of coffee. Sophie smiled at both of them; Nia maintained the same neutral, passive expression she always wore. "Hey there, guys," Sophie said. Her eyes traveled quickly down to where Lydia and Stiles were holding hands before shooting back up to their faces. Her smile never wavered.

"Hey," Stiles replied. He and Lydia both grabbed seats. "So, where's Scott and the rest? I thought he wanted to get an early start today."

"They did get an early start," Nia said, her voice as passive as ever.

"Actually, I think they never stopped last night," Sophie said, winking at her sister.

Lydia and Stiles exchanged a confused look. "Scott's car is still in the driveway," Lydia said. "They couldn't have already left for the tree farm - "

"No, not that," Nia said, pointing to the ceiling. Stiles and Lydia looked up and after a second heard springs straining and people grunting and moaning. "Bridget and Declan, and Allison and Scott, are upstairs playing the "whose orgasm is louder" game."

Stiles and Lydia both laughed. "They've made it a game?"

"No," Sophie replied. "We have. They pull this every morning these days, ever since Nia and I moved into the basement so that Declan and Bridget could have the other upstairs bedroom all to themselves. They do this, and when they're all downstairs we announce which couple is the winner for the day."

"But we don't tell them what it is they've won or why," Nia continued, stirring the brown, steaming liquid in her cup. "It's our revenge."

"After all, _we're_ not getting laid every morning," Sophie said, with a significant look at Stiles and Lydia.

Stiles blushed, but Lydia beat him to a response. "It's not our fault that we don't live in your little den of debauchery here," she said, sniffing. "We can only sneak over here for a night every once and a while."

"More's the pity," Nia responded. "I just love sleeping on the couch when I get kicked out of the basement so you can copulate."

Sophie turned a wicked grin on her sister. "I offered to let you stay, you know."

"I know. And I remember fondly a time when _I_ made _you_ uncomfortable. I think that at least one couple is done."

Stiles and Lydia looked up again. The various sex noises had grown fewer and quieter. "Declan and Bridget are finished," Lydia announced. When the other three at the table gave her looks, she raised her hand in defense. "Don't look at me. You're the ones who made a game out of spying on them while they're having sex."

"True," Sophie said, nodding. "But we don't have superhearing to pick out every little detail."

"So, what, it's worse that I do it because I'm better at it?"

Stiles shook his head. "Ladies," he said. "As much fun as it would be to see the two of you fight and, _ahem_, make up, I think Scott and Allison might be finishing up too, and I don't want us getting delayed. Today is an important day."

Lydia rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. "We're going to pick out a Christmas tree, Stiles," she said. "It isn't the end of the world."

"No, it isn't the end of the world," Stiles agreed. "If we don't have enough time to pick out the _right_ Christmas tree, _then_ it's the end of the world. Scott will back me up."

"Back you up on what?" Scott asked, descending the stairs even as he was still pulling a t-shirt on. Allison was following behind him, wearing a pair of loose flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt four sizes too big, the neckline of which hung down so far it was almost indecent.

Stiles considered his best friend as Scott and Allison entered the kitchen and walked straight over to the coffee maker, grabbing mugs from the cupboard above. "You know, given everything that's been going on in this house this morning, I'm regretting that choice of words," Stiles said.

"Huh?" Allison asked.

"Never mind," Stiles said. As Scott poured himself a cup of coffee, Stiles refocused his gaze on his friend. "It's Christmas tree day, Scott, and these heathens are doubting the sanctity of our sacred tradition. Educate them. Please."

"Stiles' Dad is Jewish," Scott explained, walking over to the table while Allison filled her own mug full of coffee. "After his mom died, they stopped celebrating Christmas. After my Dad left, it got kinda hard to motivate my mom on the holidays. So Stiles and I got really gung-ho about getting us a Christmas tree every year and it made her laugh enough that she'd come along. It's kind of been a tradition ever since."

"What has been a tradition?" Bridget asked from the stairs. Her face was still flush as she entered the kitchen.

Declan hadn't even bothered to put on a shirt. As he entered the kitchen, he headed for the stove. "Anyone want eggs? I'm cookin'."

Stiles shook his head. "No time for eggs."

Sophie turned to her sister. "Stiles and Scott go nuts over Christmas tree shopping every year," she said. "Apparently today is the day. By the way, you win this morning, sis."

Scott sipped his coffee. "Had to be today," he said. "This was the only weekend before Christmas that I could get off from the clinic."  
"You know," Bridget said. "We have never had a Christmas tree before."

Scott, Stiles, Lydia, and Allison all stopped to look at the brunette nymph. "Never?" Allison asked.

"Is that odd?" Bridget asked.

"Yeah, Bridget, it's odd," Stiles confirmed.

"Uh," Declan said, from the counter, where he'd grabbed a bagel instead of a pan to cook the eggs that Stiles had shut down. "Guess I must be odd, too, then, 'cause I've never had one either. Well," he continued, "there was one year that Curtis cut off a few branches and stuck 'em in a pot in our hotel room, but then he set 'em on fire a few days later and we nearly burned down the whole hotel." He looked down at his feet. "I kinda hope that don't count."

Stiles was looking at Scott. "Scott, you're living with four people who've never had a Christmas tree," he said. "Do you know what this means?" Scott shook his head. Stiles slammed a fist on the table, turning his face into a mask of utter solemnity. "This isn't just Christmas tree day. This is Christmas tree _apocalypse_."

Sophie shook her head. "Points for melodrama, but I'm afraid the punchline didn't make much sense, hon."

Scott sniffed at himself and grimaced. "I'm going to need a shower before we can go out," he said. He cast a glance at Allison and turned a little red. "Uh, I think we both could use one, actually."

Declan and Bridget also looked at each other, furtively. "Us too," Bridget said, quietly, trying to keep from meeting anyone else's eyes.

"Save time, shower together," Stiles said. Allison and Declan both frowned at him. "Two-by-two! Come on, now's not the time to start pretending that'd bother you."

"What did we 'win?'?" Bridget asked Sophie, even as Bridget, Declan, Scott, and Allison started toward the stairs they'd just descended. "Someday you will have to explain this to me, Sophie."

**\/[]\/**

A frenetic half hour later, all eight teens piled out of the house and headed for the cars. Before anyone could start climbing in, Stiles bounded ahead and turned to face them, clapping his hands together. "Okay," he said. "Let's strategize. We need to bring Scott's car because it has the most roof space; that's where the tree will go. We should only have to bring one other car."

"Mine's got the most room," Lydia said. "And before anyone says anything, I've had plenty of practice driving one-handed since I got my license back last month."

"You could always wolf out and have two hands to drive that way," Sophie pointed out, reasonably.

"True, but it kinda stresses me out at red lights. You know, being a rage monster and all."

"I'll ride with Stiles and Lydia," Sophie announced.

"I will bet you will," Bridget muttered. Declan laughed.

Sophie turned an arch grin on her sister. "And Bridget and Declan can come along with us too, so long as Bridget doesn't try to give him a blow job in the backseat or something."

Bridget's face turned bright red, which clashed horribly with the orange knit hat she wore. Declan, on the other hand, managed to field the jab in stride. "We don't do cars," he said. "Traumatic experience. You're safe."

"I'll go with Scott and Allison, then," Nia said, drifting over to the car opening the back door.

"I miss the days when I was the only sexually adventurous sister!" Bridget muttered, sticking out her tongue at Sophie, who just grinned back. The three of them piled into the back of Lydia's car, and once Lydia, Stiles, Scott, and Allison were all into their respective vehicles, they set out for the tree farm.

Lyndon's Tree Farm was a few miles outside town, and had been where Scott and Stiles had been going for trees for years. None of the rest of them had been there before; Lydia's family used a plastic tree, and Allison hadn't been in Beacon Hills for Christmas the year previous. Scott and Stiles had warned the others that the place was large, but they hadn't specified _how_ large.

Which is why, when they rounded a bend in the road and the farm came into sight, similar gasps of "Wow that's big!" could be heard in both vehicles.

"Why didn't you tell me it was this big?" Allison asked. "That has to be at least three acres."

"Five, I think," Scott said, pulling his car down the dirt road that lead to the farm. "This place is a hidden gem. We're in the middle of nowhere out here. I've heard people come from hundreds of miles around to get their trees here. And it's right in our backyard."

Allison gave him a quizzical glance. "You really are into this, aren't you?"

Scott shrugged. "Yeah," he said. "I mean, it was a big thing we did every year, you know? Like, I know it's kind of dorky, but stuff like this...I mean, you don't realize how important it is until there's a reason for it to be. That's what it was like when I was younger, when..."

"When your mom was still around," Allison finished, as Scott trailed off. Scott nodded. "I'm sorry. Would you rather I didn't bring it up?"

"No," Scott said, brusquely, pulling the car up next to a black pickup truck and putting it in park. "It's okay. I'm fine, really."

Allison shot her boyfriend a worried look as they climbed out of the car, just as Lydia parked and Stiles, Sophie, Bridget, and Declan got out of her car. Stiles took a couple of steps away, put his hands on his hips, threw back his head, and inhaled, exaggerating the noise the action made. "Smell that fresh air!"

"I thought you hated fresh air," Lydia said.

"And preferred the smell of the couch," Sophie continued.

"And potato chips," the two girls finished together.

Stiles looked at them, incredulously. "Dating two girls at once is supposed to be a sexual odyssey for me, girls, it's not meant as a way for you to start double-teaming me. _And_," he continued, seeing both Scott and Bridget getting ready to say something, "we really should suspend all the double entendre jokes until we've found our Christmas tree. I propose we break into teams. If anyone finds one they think might be _the_ one, they call everyone else. No one cuts until the tree has been approved by all. Understand?"

"Cuts?" Sophie asked.

"Yes, cuts," Stiles replied. "We're cutting our own tree."

"Is that...uh, safe?"

"Of course it's safe," Stiles said. "What, you think all the Christmas trees in the world just magically fall over and get picked up by loving, caring families? Besides, Scott and Lydia heal from any injury like _that_," he snapped his fingers, "and they've got natural claws, so this really should be a cinch."

"If you don't mind," Scott said, lowering his voice and glancing around the parking area, "I think I'd like for us to still grab saws from the information hut."

"That's fine," Stiles said, turning and leading them toward the little, rickety-looking wooden hut that sat on grass just off the dirt parking lot. "We need to pick up maps, anyway."

"Maps?" Lydia asked, jogging to catch up with Stiles, who'd broken into a power walk as soon as he'd started moving. Lydia's single arm pumped as she jogged, which actually caused her to run a little lopsided. "Stiles, I know this place is big, but do we really need a map? It's a big square full of trees."

"It's not in case you get lost," Stiles replied, as the others caught up and struggled to match his pace – only Scott seemed perfectly comfortable keeping up. "It tells you where each kind of tree is. Balsam fir, white pine, Fraser fir."

"And this is information we want to know?" Bridget asked, sticking her hands into the thick white parka she wore.

Declan put an arm around her shoulders. "Apparently."

"The tree can be any type of tree," Stiles said over his shoulder as they get closer to the hut. A small line with four people in it was formed outside of it. "Part of the fun is not knowing which kind it'll be beforehand."

Bridget leaned forward. "Then how do we tell that it is the correct tree?"

Stiles stopped and turned to face Bridget. He laid both of his hands on her shoulders. "You just know, Bridget," he said. "You just know."

Bridget looked torn between laughing at how he was acting and treating him like he was being serious. In the end, she smiled weakly and nodded, as Lydia shook her head and Declan smiled bemusedly at the interaction.

Once the group reached the hut, Sophie spoke. "So how many 'teams' are we breaking into for this?"

All eyes turned to Stiles, who didn't miss a beat. "I'm thinking pairs," he said. "I know you ladies will probably want to go with your boyfriends, but I'm claiming Scott for this one."

"Oh the jokes I could make..." Lydia muttered.

Stiles shot her a snide look. "The rest of you can divide yourselves up however you want," he said. "Grab a saw and a map and if you see something that you think might be _it_, give us a call and we'll come find you. Now," he continued, checking the sign on the hut and pulling out his phone to compare times, "they're only open another six hours, so we better hop to it if we're going to get this done in time."

"Six hours...?" Sophie asked, but Stiles had already grabbed a map and a saw from the person in the hut and started to drag Scott away. Even the sight of her slight-of-frame quasi-boyfriend dragging the powerful Alpha away couldn't quite wash away some of the confusion she felt toward the whole thing. _Is it really going to take six hours?_

"You've never seen Stiles when he's on a mission like this," Lydia said. "You know, one that doesn't involve life and death, anyway. Come on, let's be partners."

Lydia was already holding a map and a saw, and with a glance around at the others she shrugged. The mousy nymph and the one-armed werewolf took off together, at a much more leisurely pace than Stiles and Scott had taken.

This left Allison, Nia, Bridget and Declan still standing by the hut. To Allison's slight surprise, Bridget turned to her. "Would you like to be my partner, Allison?" she asked.

Allison glanced at Declan. "Uh, sure," she said. "If, you know, you two don't want to go together."

Declan's own gaze strayed over to Nia. "It's all good," he said. "Nia and I have been due for some brother-sister time, right?"

"It has been difficult for us to spend time together, due to the frequency with which you copulate with my sister."

"Right," Declan said, blanching only slightly. He grabbed a map and a saw of his own. "Just what the doctor ordered." He and Nia – her dark hair somehow hanging exactly as it always did, half covering her face, despite the knit cap that covered it in turn – turned and walked in a direction not yet taken by either of the two pairs to already depart.

"Guess you're stuck with me," Allison said to Bridget.

Bridget smiled, reaching over for a saw as Allison picked up a map. "I told you, I would like to spend time with you. I believe this will be fun."

Allison smiled back, looking around at the sea of trees in front of them. "You know, I think maybe it will."

**\/[]\/**

It took Scott a full thirty feet of being dragged before he could readjust his pace to match his best friend's. Stiles was scanning the trees and muttering under his breath about some of the needles already being brown. Once Scott was sure they were out of earshot of the others, he began speaking. "So, Stiles..."

"Yes, Scott."

"How are things? You know, with Lydia and Sophie."

Stiles shook his head, his attention still focused on the trees they were moving past. "Crazy," he said.

"Just crazy?"

"Will you focus, Scott?" Stiles snapped. Scott stopped, folding his arms and frowning at his friend. Stiles stopped as well and turned to face him. "Okay, sorry, that was harsh. It's just...things are complicated, you know?"

"I really don't," Scott said, grinning. "I've never tried dating two girls at once. Dating Allison's almost gotten me killed how many times now? Can you imagine me trying to date someone else, too?"

The two started walking again, albeit this time without the frenzied energy Stiles had been exuding moments before. He was still looking intently at every tree they passed. "I really don't know what to say about it," he said. "I mean, Lydia and I spent a bunch of time kind of avoiding being 'together,' and then Sophie and I had all that stuff just kind of fall on us after we hooked up on the full moon, and then Sophie went from being 100% sexually repressed to 100% sexually...I don't know, voracious?"

"Is that a bad thing?" Scott asked, running a hand along a branch as they passed. Half of the needles on it scattered and fell and Scott shook his head. _Tree like that wouldn't last a week._

"Not exactly?" Stiles replied. "I just feel sometimes like I'm not enough for her. Like Lydia and I both aren't enough for her. And...I don't know, this is the weirdest part, but sometimes it feels like we're not three people in a relationship, we're – Lydia and I – a couple that has a third partner. If that makes any sense at all."

"Don't know, dude," Scott replied, stopping in front of a tree. "What do you think?"

Stiles stopped as well to regard the tree. It was about a foot taller than Scott and seemed very narrow; it wasn't as full as the other trees around them. "Kinda skinny. I don't think it's the one." The two resumed walking. "Does it ever feel like you're just not connecting with Allison? And don't make any sex jokes, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Scott replied, sighing. "Yeah, Allison and I have had more than our fair share of those sorts of things. You remember the two months or so we spent as mortal enemies?"

Stiles shook his head. "You were never mortal enemies."

Scott stopped again, grabbing his friend's arm. "Excuse me?" he asked. "She put an arrow in my throat. She more or less threatened your dad. I definitely threatened her aunt."

"I remember," Stiles said, looking down at Scott's grip on his arm but not commenting on it. "And even then, you weren't mortal enemies. Not really. You were in love with her that whole time. There's no way the whole thing would've hurt you as much as it did if you hadn't been."

Scott considered for a moment, then got the hint as Stiles continued to start pointedly at his arm. The Alpha released his best friend's arm. "Sorry," he said, as Stiles rubbed at the spot Scott had been clutching. "I guess you're right. Anyway, we _know_ things aren't the same for you and Lydia and Sophie, not by a long shot. I wish I could help, but I don't think I can."

"That's the thing," Stiles said, as they resumed their search once again. "I'm not even sure we need help."

**\/[]\/**

Sophie and Lydia stood looking at a tree. To Lydia, that's all it was – a tree. A single tree standing in a row of trees that was next to another row of trees and so on and so forth. Lydia cocked her head, but the slight change in perspective did nothing to make it look more appealing. She reached out her hand and tapped the trunk once, feeling the rough bark grate against her skin.

She turned her gaze to the mousy nymph beside her. "Think this is "the one," or whatever Stiles is calling it?"

Sophie shook her head. "I doubt it," she said. "I think we're supposed to go all warm and tingly or something when we see it. A real spiritual experience."

Lydia dropped her hand to her side and resumed walking down the row of trees. "This is ridiculous," she said, hearing the crunch of Sophie's boots as she jogged to catch up. "Why'd we let Stiles drag us into this? I don't know anything about trees except how to avoid them when I'm running in the woods. And that's so not even something I'm trying to think about right now."

Sophie shrugged, a motion which made it seem like her narrow shoulders were bobbing. "It's important to him," she said. "I think we're doing the indulgent girlfriend thing. Doesn't this mean he owes us something? Like a sappy romantic movie or something?"

Lydia turned a wry grin on her companion. "Been reading about relationships on the Internet again, have you?"

Sophie's face colored. "My sister makes the whole thing look so _easy_," she said, kicking at a pebble on their path. "And, yeah, totally different situation, I know. I just feel like I don't know what I'm supposed to do. The only time I feel sure of myself is when I let my control slip away and we all wind up naked."

Lydia slipped her arm around Sophie's shoulders. "I like those parts."

"I like them too," Sophie continued. "But I feel like there's supposed to be – I don't know, more _other_ parts. Like watching sappy romantic movies."

It was Lydia's turn to shrug. "Well, like you said, he owes us for this," she said. "Maybe we'll force a weekend movie marathon on him at some point. You've seen _The Notebook_, right?" When Sophie's face remained blank, Lydia withdrew her arm and threw it up in the air, comically. "Maybe this movie marathon is more necessary than I'd thought."

Sophie stopped, looking at a tree. "Is this the one?"

It was still just another tree. "I don't feel tingly."

Sophie shook her head, resumed walking. "Me either."

**\/[]\/**

"So, what's been up, Nia?" Declan asked, as he and Nia walked through the trees. While Declan felt like he had to dodge rocks and climb over fallen tree limbs every other step, Nia seemed to just sail straight along, a serene river in human form. _Mostly human, anyway._

"Aside from your libido?"

Declan rolled his eyes. "You know, I'll never understand why you spend so much time makin' fun for sex. You don't seem to really enjoy it at all. The makin' fun part that is."

"What else do I have to do?"

"I dunno," Declan said. He tried to give Nia an appraising look, but the nymph's face was almost completely covered by her hair. "What else do you have to do, Nia?"

Nia stopped and looked at Declan. Front on he could catch just the slightest glimpse of her eyes, which were a brilliant green color. "What are you getting at?"

Declan cleared his throat, wondering if he dared broach this topic. "Look, you got the short end of the stick in the nymph department. I get that. Bridget and Sophie both found out that they get this whole world of experience they figured they'd never get, and you're still stuck without being able to touch anyone without knocking 'em out. It's just – I kinda worry that the teasin' ain't so good for you."

Nia stared Declan in the eye for a long moment. Declan found himself unable to read the look he found there. "I'd have thought Bridget would have trained all the "ain't" out of your speech by now."

Declan shook his head. "Don't change the subject."

Nia shook her head in return. "There isn't much to talk about there. You think it's not healthy for me to be teasing you about sex. I disagree. I enjoy it. Besides, you're not one to talk about "healthy" right now, Declan."

Declan recoiled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe the others haven't seen you staring off into space at dinner, or spacing out in the car, or grinding your teeth or knotting up your fists for no reason. Maybe Bridget hasn't even seen it. But I have."

Declan shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Nia smiled. Declan felt a sudden chill, which had nothing to do with the weather. "Of course you don't."

Before Declan could think of something to say, Nia turned and resumed walking. "I don't see the correct tree in this row," she said, without turning to address the comment directly to Declan. "Shall we try a different one?"

**\/[]\/**

Bridget ran her hand through the prickly spines of a branch of the one of the trees. She and Allison had drifted a few sections over from the others, and the trees they were looking at were all at least fifteen feet tall. _Too tall for the house_, she thought. But the prickly "leaves" were soft and fuzzy and she liked the feel of them more, and she doubted that she and Allison would be the ones to find "the" tree, anyway.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Allison said, from the other side of the tree. "How are you and Declan settling in to the upstairs room together?"

"Wonderfully, thank you," Bridget responded, retracting her hand from the tree and circling the tree to stand in front of her pixie-like companion. "I did not much care for him being in the basement." She couldn't help the slight drop in the volume of her voice for the next sentence, or the slight blush that still crept into her cheeks. "I did not like having sex down there."

Allison brushed her hair over her shoulder. "Tell me about it," she said. "I think I still have scraped knees from my own little basement adventure." When Bridget gave her a blank look, Allison continued. "On the full moon a few months ago? The first full moon that you guys were in Beacon Hills."

"Oh, right!" Bridget said, slapping her forehead with a gloved hand. "It is becoming difficult to keep track of where things like that have happened in that house."

Allison's brow furrowed and she looked around. "We probably don't want to say that too loudly," she said. "Technically Scott's the only legally emancipated one. The rest of us shouldn't live there, technically. We shouldn't draw attention to ourselves."

Bridget couldn't help but chuckle, which earned her a confused look from the archer. "In our house there's a werewolf Alpha and his mate, a nymph and her boyfriend, and two additional nymphs in the basement. But we have to lay low because we're not old enough to be living together."

Bridget's chuckle continued into a full laugh, and Allison grinned, joining in. "Okay, you're right, the whole thing's completely ridiculous," she admitted. She looked back at the tree. "You ever have one of those "how did I get here" kind of moments, where you just sit and wonder how your life reached this very specific point?"

Bridget's laugh subsided, but her smile remained. "I do not know," she said. "Usually when I think about things like that, I am reminded that I'm dating my brother. Even though I've chosen not to think of it that way. So I don't think about it that often."

Allison nodded. "I guess that makes sense," she said. "I guess your situation's weirder than mine."

Bridget shook her head. "Not so much," she said. "Both of us had to contend with our fathers disapproving of our matches. Both of our relationships have mystical sides we do not fully understand. And both of us live with our boyfriends despite the fact that, according to Wikipedia, most couples do not live together until somewhat later in life."

Allison was nodding along with Bridget, admiring the nymph's viewpoint, until the last sentence. "You read about relationships on Wikipedia?"  
"Sophie did," Bridget said. "She left it up on the computer when I came in, so I figured I would have a look, too."

"What else did it have to say?"

Bridget's brow furrowed too. "There was a section at the end that said that all American couples at some point have sex with goats, but I think that might have been a typo."

"Eesh," Allison said. She found herself absent-mindedly rubbing her hand along one of the branches. "I like this tree."

Bridget turned her own attention back to the tree and reached up to touch it. "Me, too," she said.

Allison took a step back and looked the tree up and down. "It seems pretty even," she said. "And, you know, _full. _That's the right word, right?" Bridget shrugged. "It's a very pretty tree."

Bridget nodded. "It is," she said. "But is it not too tall for the house?"

Allison shook her head. "Doesn't matter," she said, a grin breaking out across her face. "I feel like this is the one. Don't you?"

Bridget's face broke out into a grin of its own. "I will call the boys."

**\/[]\/**

It took a few minutes to assemble everyone at the tree Allison and Bridget had selected. Stiles and Scott arrived first, Stiles with a look of intense – and comical – skepticism on his face, Scott looking extremely bemused. The others straggled in more slowly, with Sophie and Lydia arriving last, having a half-hearted disagreement about which one of them had been holding the map upside down.

Stiles had been reserving his judgment until they were all gathered, but once everyone had had a chance to see the tree, he turned to the crowd. "Well?"

When no one responded, Lydia stepped forward and laid her hand on his shoulder. "It's a tree, Stiles," she said. "It's so treelike, I'm ready to call it tree-squared."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "This is a serious matter, Lydia," he said, the comedic tone in his voice breaking ever so slightly. "What do you think of the tree?"

Lydia, surprised by Stiles' candor, blanked. "I don't know," she said. She looked at it. "I mean, it looks like a nice tree, I guess. But I don't really know what you're looking for."

"Does it make you feel anything when you look at it?" he asked. When Lydia's face remained blank, he turned to Sophie, who shrugged too. Stiles threw up his hands in exasperation. "Scott?" he asked, turning to his best friend.

Scott, whose attention had thus far been on Stiles' erstwhile girlfriends, looked around at the tree. He reached a hand over and brushed it through the soft, fur-like needles. After a second, he nodded. "I think this is the one," he said.

Stiles nodded. "I do, too."

"Uh, guys?" Declan interjected. He and Nia had edged away from each other as soon as they'd reached the group, and Declan had still been casting slight, worried looks toward her. "Isn't this about four feet taller than the ceiling?"

Stiles looked up at the top of the tree. "He's right," he said, after a second. His shoulders slumped. "What do we do now?"

"Cut off the top?" Bridget asked.

Stiles shook his head. "It's your first time, so I'll forgive you that sacrilege," he said.

"What about leaving it outdoors?" Scott asked, his hand still brushing through the branches. "We can put the lights and the other outdoor decorations on it. The indoor stuff we can just hang around the living room."

Stiles looked at the tree in appraisal for a moment before nodding. "I guess that's what we'll have to do," he said. "Since this is the tree. Who wants to cut it down?"

After a moment of discussion, Scott and Declan stepped forward. Declan grabbed the tree at the top and Scott dropped down to the ground. Stiles handed him one of the saws, and he began moving the saw back and forth. Fast.

"Uh, Scott?" Stiles asked.

"What?" Scott responded, still on the ground, splinters of the tree spraying like geysers from either side of the trunk where he was cutting.

"You want to take it down a notch? You look a human buzzsaw."

Scott looked down at what he was doing to the tree, then looked up again, sheepish. "Uh, sorry," he said. "I didn't even realize." He looked up at Declan specifically. "Step around to the other side, Declan. I don't want to cut off one of your feet by accident."

Declan scurried around to the other side of the tree and, despite Scott toning down the tempo his sawing, the tree was severed from the ground in short order. On direction from Stiles, Declan lifted it off the stump and set it down half a foot away.

"Now we drag it back to the car?" the hunter asked.

Stiles shook his head. "We have to trim some of the bottom branches first," he said. "So it'll fit in the stand. Can you angle it down without dropping it completely so that Scott can get at the bottom?"

The three boys managed to coordinate for the next several minutes as they sawed off a few of the bottom branches, until the tree's trunk was bare for the first foot and a half or so, until Stiles nodded his approval. "That should be good," he said. "Now we drag it back to the car."

The eight teens managed to get the tree back to the parking lot, where one of the tree farm attendants had a machine which wrapped the tree in twine. The man grinned at them, his gaze lingering especially on the girls, and told them that it was sweet that they were all celebrating Christmas together. Scott paid the man – a bit hastily – and they dragged the tree the rest of the way to Scott's car, lashing it to the top and driving it home to the McCall house.

**\/[]\/**

The tree went up without much problem. There was a brief incident where it almost fell over on Declan, which all agreed would have been funny since it wouldn't have hurt him, but then Stiles mentioned that the tree falling over can damage the branches and everyone groaned at him. The group all pitched in to decorate, winding lights and tinsel around the tree in circles. Nia even got in on it, hanging a group of colorful round ornaments at random intervals. There was a brief moment of consternation when they realized that the tree was up and mostly decorated and the star needed to go on the top – fifteen feet above the ground – but after glancing around to make sure that no one could see, Sophie had sprouted her deep purple wings and fluttered with the star to the top, laying it there and then dropping back to the ground, where Lydia and Stiles caught her, all three of them laughing.

Just as the sun began to set and the group stood back to admire their handiwork, Stiles felt something cold hit his head. He reached up and brought his hand back with a little, round melting shape there. He glanced at Scott, who looked up and grinned and then snapped his eyes shut as a snowflake landed directly in his right eye. In short order it was snowing fully, the red-orange rays of the setting sun being scattered all about the yard by the softly falling snowflakes.

As the sun receded and it grew darker, Scott plugged in the lights, and again the yard was bathed in colorful light, and there was Allison, smiling with shining eyes, and he pulled her to him and kissed her and reveled for a moment in the warmth of her body and the feeling that he wasn't alone.

**\/[]\/**

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, okay, this is way overdue. I do have another plot arc or two planned, so this story is far from done, but I've (obviously) been having some trouble finding time to write. I'm hoping to get back into a regular pattern at some point. Let me know what you think in the reviews, and what you'd like to see out of this story's future.


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